The Indelibles
by Electroboy
Summary: Rasputin continues to plot the downfall of the West. Meanwhile, the Worthy's are personally introduced to Helen Parr, and several important questions are asked...
1. Memories and Heroics

Right, here we go then -first a little **DISCLAIMER: **I don't own the Incredibles (mores the pity), so all the credit goes to Pixar... and the other one...

I wrote this out of the overwhelming desire to have ME in the Incredibles universe. Mr. and Master Worthy both have parts of my character, but I'll leave you to figure out what parts as the story goes on. Anyhoo, I am English, so I don't really know anything much about American schools. An email about this would be helpful. Finally, I have never written a hero fic before... ever. WWI, WWII, Battletech, Modern Warfare, general wars... so, yeah, you can expect some warring in this fic.

Enjoy, chaps and chappettes!

_

* * *

_

_Mayday-mayday! Flight leader, I'm going down!_

A burst of flame to one side caused the pilots head to turn. A spread of cannon shells had ripped into the wing, blowing the superstructure apart.

_Get him off me! Come on, lads!_

He glanced behind him, the German Messerschmit was still glued to his six and continued to fire on his crippled plane.

_Flame out! I'm bailing, have to bail!_

His own words echoed inside his head ethereally. The world outside slowed down as he forced the cockpit open and leapt from the stricken aircraft.

Behind him the Hurricane tumbled away out of control before exploding violently as it's fuel ignited.

He checked his wrist altimeter.

_Falling, still falling… wait for it… PULL!_

He wrenched on the ripcord but nothing happened. He tried again and again but the chute wouldn't deploy. He screamed in terror as the ground rushed to meet him. Faster, faster, still faster it came. At the last moment he closed his eyes…

'Oh my!' Christopher Edward Worthy sat up with a start and looked around. His office formed around him and the dream faded, as it had done many times before.

* * *

_Fernton Field Research Complex,_

_East Anglia,_

_England, 26/11/1975_

Running his hands through sweat soaked hair, Chris looked at the picture of his father sitting serenely on the desk. The photo was old, sepia, and showed the RAF pilot in his goggles and flying helmet. Sighing, Chris picked up the picture and slipped it into a draw, alongside a pair of ancient goggles and some folded orange cloth. 'I've gotta get rid of that picture.' He surmised, draining the last of his cold coffee.

His intercom buzzed. 'Mr. Worthy?'

'Yes Gladys?'

'Your father on line two. Careful, the signal isn't very good.'

Chris groaned. 'Thanks, I'll talk to him.'

He picked up the phone and coughed. 'Daddy, you rang?'

His father's voice sounded distant on the distorted line. 'Yes, just wondered when you were leaving, to say goodbye.'

'In a couple of hours, I've got a presentation of the plasma engine for the company CEO and then I'll be off.' He waited for a moment, listening. 'Dad, where are you? Is that rushing wind in the background?'

'Yes, yes it is! I thought I'd take lunch on the top of Everest today before I leave for Tokyo.'

Chris frowned. 'Dad, I've told you before. You aren't as young as you used to be, and I don't like all that rarefied air. It's bad for you.'

'Blazing Blenheims, Chris, you don't let me do anything fun anymore!'

'Look,' Chris rubbed his eyes, 'I think this round-the-world trip is a great way for you to get out, but can't you have fun, I don't know, at a lower altitude?'

His dad chuckled. 'I'll see what I can do. Look, I'll give you a buzz when I get to Japan, I'd best get off this hilltop. I have the number of that place in the US so don't worry about me not calling. Love you, son.'

'I love you too dad.' He was about to hang up when he remembered something: 'No more mountains!'

The phone line went dead and Chris replaced the receiver, only to be disturbed by the intercom again.

He stabbed at the button. 'Gladys!?'

'Sir, Miss Mirage is here to view the demonstration.'

Chris let his head drop to the desk with a _thunk_. 'I'll be right there.' He mumbled.

* * *

'Ah, Mr. Worthy. I think it's time I saw what the company's money has been pumped into.' 

Chris tried to smile and walked up to the observation window, dumping his blueprints and other documents onto a table.

'I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, Miss Mirage.' Chris picked up a sheet and passed it to the slender, white haired woman. 'As you know, we've been working on an operating, practical Variable Specific Impulse Magnetoplasma Rocket, or VASIMR.' He indicated to what appeared to be an aeroplane in the hangar below, but it looked like nothing Mirage had ever seen before. The plane faced an open hangar door leading out onto a stretch of runway; technicians busied themselves with helping a pilot into the tiny cockpit

'Now, uh, VASIMR is actually a precursor to true fusion propulsion, but we really have learnt an awful lot from this type of rocket. It works by creates plasma under exceedingly hot conditions and expels it as exhaust, providing thrust. Quite a bally lot of it, actually.'

Mirage smirked and took a seat in one of the swivel chairs mounted in front of the window. Her bodyguard, a man known to Chris as "Mr. Incredible" – or something like that – stayed put, eyes fixed on the nervous engineer.

'So, the VASIMR is actually formed by three basic cells. The forward cell contains the propellant hydrogen gas. In here it is ionised and turned into plasma. The middle cell uses electromagnetic energy to further agitate the plasma – like a potato in microwave.' Incredible licked his lips. 'Finally, the aft cell uses a powerful magnetic field to shape the expelled plasma into something like jet exhaust.' Chris paused for effect then ploughed on. 'The plasma is just over one hundred thousand degrees Celsius when it leaves the magnetic nozzle, and would most likely destroy anything it touches. Well, everything except for the blast shield we will be using.'

'Enough science,' Mirage said, 'will it work?'

'Will it work? Will it work, she says… of course it will work…' Chris turned to face the window. 'It's whether or not we'll be alive when the test finishes that I'm concerned about.' He muttered.

Chris spoke into his mike and the amplified voice bounced around the control room and hangar floor. 'Henson, are you ready to fly this beast?'

The pilot raised his hand with the "OK" gesture and a tinny voice played on the tannoy. 'Ready when you are, sir.'

'Alright.' Chris crossed himself. 'Control room – engage hydrogen injectors, begin charging plasma reactor…'

* * *

_Wisbech Grammar School,_

_Wisbech, Cambridge,_

_England, 26/11/1975_

The lunchtime bell rang through the old school buildings and students began moving from their classes and onto the school fields.

Nicholas Worthy opened his bag and tipped his entire locker's contents into it, clearing the small cubicle for the last time. He closed it slowly and jangled the keys before pocketing them; he didn't feel like returning them anymore. 'Ah well, I've had a good run.'

He started walking down the corridor when his friend called from behind him. 'Hi, Nick! Fancy one last game of rugger for 'ole times sake?'

Nick smiled and turned. 'Sure, Ali, I'll be on the pitch in a minute, just gonna grab some lunch.'

SLAM!

The corridor went silent as a head connected sharply with a locker door.

'Please, Ben, I didn't mean to… my mum didn't give me any money today!'

'Shut up, screw-ball, this'll learn you to ALWAYS ask her for cash!'

Nick tossed his bag to one side and cracked his knuckles, but before he could charge in Ali stopped him. 'Leave it, mate, just don't get involved. They say Ben's gonna be excluded soon anyway…'

Earlier in the year, if Ali had this suggestion, Nick would have turned away, but ever since his sixteenth birthday things had been different. He started getting this irresistible urge to stick up for the little guy, and this little guy was getting the living daylights knocked out of him.

He punched his palm with aplomb. 'Sorry, Ali, it's just something I've got to do.'

'Fine! I'll mail your corpse home!'

Nick strode passed the crowds of gawking students and when a few metres away, he spotted Ben's new gold watch. 'H'm… let me see…' He clicked his fingers and immediately Ben stopped his beating, clutching his wrist in pain.

'YOUCH! IT BURNS!'

Nick walked up to him and leant on a locker. 'You know, Ben, gold is a very conductive metal.'

Ben rounded on Nick. 'What's it to you, glove-boy?' He said, referring to the insulated gloves Nick was forced to wear. 'Want me to take you down a notch, lad?'

'By all means, feel free to try…' Ben raised a fist into the air, but Nick was smaller and faster and swiftly drove his fist into Ben's face.

'Master Worthy!' The voice stopped Nick dead. 'Come here this instant young man!'

'Oh bugger…' Mouthed Nick soundlessly, staring up into the face of the deputy head. 'Willy Wallace…'

* * *

Mr. Incredible bent down to study the hole burnt right through the reinforced blast shield, and the rear of the hangar, and whistled. He then twisted his head slowly, tracing the rut of blasted tarmac out along the runway. 'Holy moley… that was some take-off.' 

'Brilliant, eh?' Shouted Chris as the experimental fighter made it's third fly-by of the complex, each time a faint shrieking followed by a deafening rumble as the sound waves dragging behind the plane converged.

'Most impressive, Mr. Worthy!' Yelled Mirage from the other side of the hangar. 'I'm beginning to remember why I asked you to come to the States now!'

Chris waited in anticipation of the next sonic boom, but it never came. His face fell as the tannoy squeaked. 'Sir, please come to the control room, we have a problem.'

He jumped up the steps from the hangar and burst into the control room. Taking the receiver from the radio technician, he placed it against his ear.

'… Plasma reaction out of control… plane accelerating beyond its limits… she's falling apart around me!'

Chris spoke back to the pilot, Henson. 'Can you activate the emergency overrides? Are the shut-offs responding?'

The room was silent while they waited for a reply; eventually Henson's depressed voice came back. 'Negative. I repeat, shut-offs not responding.'

'Where are you now?'

'I'm heading directly for London! Cripes a'mighty, my speed is nearing mach-ruddy-eight, and increasing! Controls aren't responding!'

Chris' face blanched and he looked at Mirage. 'When that plane hits London, the damage will be akin to a multi-megaton nuclear bomb going off…'

Mr. Incredible stepped up. 'Can I do anything?'

'Can you fly?' Mirage checked him. 'Worthy, what can we do?'

Chris' mind was exploding with thought. If he did, he'd risk being discovered. If he didn't, countless innocents would perish. It was no contest. 'I've got an idea, I need to make a call.'

He dashed from the control centre and pounded his way back to his office. Pulling the drawers out of his desk in a panic, he gathered up the orange suit and the old goggles, then headed to the topside exit.

'Where has he gone?' Asked Mirage, looking around the room.

'Ma'am!' Yelled the radar operator. 'I've got a new object on my scope, heading for the plane. Too fast to be – anything…'

Incredible scanned the sky and pointed to a fiery contrail splashed across the heavens. 'What's that? Are you shooting it down?'

'That's no missile!' Cheered an engineer. 'That's Stuntman!'

* * *

Stuntman roared through the air at hypersonic speed, the friction of his passing igniting the atmosphere behind him. Squinting into the mist, he saw the glowing engine of the experimental plane and climbed to come down on it without burning himself in the plasma-exhaust. 

He hit the wing like a sledgehammer, wincing as his knee clicked with the impact, and clambered towards the cockpit. Henson was unconscious, but Stuntman saw he had his altitude-suit on which made his job easier. Fighting the tremendous g-force, about the only thing holding the ship together, he ripped the canopy off and tore Henson from the restraints. The added drag nearly knocked him flying, but he steadied himself and crept back down the wing to the aerilon. With a downward kick, he bent the flight-plane and the aircraft started to bank out to sea.

Stuntman, his job done, let himself fall from the plane and started to dive towards the ground. It was the scene from his dream, where he was his father. Faster and faster the ground approached, filling his vision like a green muddy monster. Climbing at the last moment, Stuntman adjusted his grip on Henson and sped off at tree-top height back to Fernton Field.

Behind him, the thunderclap and flash of light told him that the fighter had hit the ocean, overloading its engines in a huge pyrotechnics display.

He smiled and remembered his father's words from 1941: 'Bally good show, if I say so myself!'


	2. Puddlejumping

_Fernton Field Research Complex,_

_East Anglia,_

_England, 26/11/1975_

Stuntman watched Henson being carried away on a stretcher and steeled himself for the onslaught that he faced. A swarm of base personnel were running towards his position at the hangar entrance.

'Whoa, Stuntman! You rock!'

'Crikey, what were you pushing? Mach 15? A new personal best!'

'Wow! That's over 10,740 miles per hour! How does he do it?'

'Can you autograph this for my son! He thinks you're the best next to Churchill!'

'Could you please answer some questions? How do you survive the friction at high speed?'

'I want to know how he handles the cold and oxygen deprivation!'

'Shut up, Bill, he's a superhero! Like it matters!'

'Excuse, sir, why do you produce a contrail? It doesn't seem to fit…'

Stuntman loved to be loved, but was inherently nervous of large crowds. He backed away from the group of people, signing, chatting, kissing babies as he went before they had him pushed up against the control tower wall.

'Look, I really must get going, excuse me, excuse… sorry…' He tried to escape the crush but was constantly pushed back. Eventually, he got to a point where he could push off into the air, and thus rocket away from his adoring fans.

Chris soon reported back to the control room where he was greeted by cheering. Mirage and Mr. Incredible were no longer present. 'Hey, Chris! Stuntman did it again!' A champagne cork popped somewhere. 'Henson came-to about a minute ago and told us he'd be dead, along with thousands of other people, if it wasn't for that guy!'

Chris smiled. 'Excellent. Where is Miss. Mirage?'

'She left about ten minutes ago in her chopper. Is it true you're being transferred to the US division?'

'Unfortunately, yes… I don't like it, uprooting Nick especially, but lets just say that America holds some new, uh, _challenges_.'

His friend winked. 'Don't worry too much, you're never going to be that far away…'

* * *

_FAST FORWARD SIX DAYS_

* * *

_Initial Approach Vector, Hutchins Field,_

_Off the coast of Metroville,_

_US Waters, 2/12/1975_

The clean white Beechcraft plane soared over the ocean. In the distance, land rose up from the misty horizon. They had flown all night, but finally made it to their destination.

'Look, dad! The Metroville pier, it's in my guide-book!' Nick pointed into the distance.

Chris, AKA the flying superhero "Stuntman", squinted, and then tuned in the radio to the nearest landing strip.

'Hutchins Tower, this is private flight Tango-India-Oh-Four Heavy, checking in at 1000 feet.' Chris clicked off of the radio and waited for a response.

'Copy that Tango-India-Oh-Four Heavy, we're setting up the lowball on VFR channel 6503 for immediate vector in at six, eight, nine, and one degrees south initial. Call the ball when you are ready, over.' The muffled southern accent on the other end of the line put Chris ill at ease.

He arched his eyebrows and turned his head to the left. His son, still wearing his insulated gloves, just shrugged.

'Uh, say again Hutchins Tower, Tango-India-Oh-Four reports a negative on that last transmission. Please repeat, over.'

He waited, and when the reply came in he swore he could hear laughter in the background.

'What's the matter, Tango, can't understand proper English?'

Chris shuddered. 'Listen you; I'll have you know you are violating numerous air-radio codes with this train of rubbish! Now, will you just-'

'Whoa, easy tiger…' The woman stopped him. 'We're just messing with you. Confirm new callsign "Limey", copy?'

'Wait- what the heck is that? Fine… "Limey" copies.'

'Great, don't worry too much about protocol, this is only a private strip. Feel free to land.'

'Thank you!' Chris grinned and dropped the aeroplane's flaps a few degrees. 'And seeing as we are so pally, what's your name, if I may be so bold, miss controller?'

There was a pause, then a faint chuckle. 'Call me Helen. It's a pleasure to make your "acquaintance".'

Meanwhile, Nick was allowing his mind to wander. Memories of London, over two years ago now, flooded back. They were staying in a small apartment in Chelsea and had very little money – it was a long time before Nick's father got his aeronautics job. Strangely enough, those days were the best…

* * *

_Lloyds Bank,_

_London,_

_England, 11/08/1973_

A police panda screeched around the corner onto the square and came to rest behind an armoured van. The doors opened and the two constables inside rushed out, hands clasping their silver pistols tightly. Suddenly there was a shattering sound and a scream as a body fell from the top floor of the bank building and landed with a crump on the paving below.

'And we'll kill another one in ten minutes if we don't get what we asked for!' Shouted a voice from above; this statement was followed with a burst of full-automatic fire.

One of the newly arrived police officers crouch-ran to where his superior was waiting. 'Sir.'

'Where are my armed officers, MacEvan?' The detective whispered nervously.

'They're following but could be about fifteen more minutes.'

'We can't wait that long, the robbers are threatening to kill another one if they don't get transport in ten.'

'So I heard,' the constable said, 'I'll get back on the blower to HQ and see if they can be hurried up. What happened to the negotiator we sent in?' MacEvan asked.

'That's him on the floor over there...' The detective answered solemnly.

MacEvan glanced at the old bank building then turned back to the detective. 'It looks like we need a real hero for this situation.'

At that moment, the detective felt a strong grip squeeze his shoulder. He jumped to his feet and found himself staring at a muscular man standing perhaps a couple of inches taller than him. The figure was wearing an orange skin-tight suit with flame motifs, dark blue gloves, similarly tinted boots, as well as a pair of old-fashioned goggles, which he adjusted. 'Detective Morton, Constable MacEvan? You called me?' The large man had a deep, warm British accent, which seemed to settle calm over the whole situation.

'Stuntman! Thank goodness you're here - we need your help!' Whinged Morton.

'I know all about it,' Remarked Stuntman offhandedly 'That's what I'm here for. These criminals would have eaten your armed cops alive. It's a good job I got here when I did.' The superhero flicked his wrist and a sophisticated looking chronometer appeared in his hand. 'Less than eight minutes until another innocent civilian dies.' Another flick and the device had disappeared.

'What's the course of action, sir?' MacEvan asked in a less awestruck tone than the detective.

Stuntman grinned, showing off two banks of sparkling teeth. 'Just leave it to me.'

Without another word, Stuntman somersaulted over the police barricade and then sprang into the air. He floated up the side of the building and entered the bank via the second floor.

'Wow! I've got to tell my wife about this!' Squealed Detective Morton excitedly. MacEvan just snorted.

Stuntman clambered through the window and landed softly inside. It was a meeting room, filled with plush chairs surrounding a long glass table. Stuntman lacked the super-aural abilities of some of his peers, but he could still hear low muttering behind the oak door which led to the hallway. He quickly but silently made his way past the table and stood in the shadow on the left of the door. When the mutters ended, he extended a gloved hand and banged on the thin wall. The voices returned, this time louder, and he tracked the light spreading across the darkened floor as the door creaked open.

'What the he-?' The first crook through didn't finish his question, instead receiving a swift punch to the temple. He crumpled to the floor unconscious, and his partner behind him readied his pistol. He had no idea what had happened, Stuntman having moved too quickly, and was shocked to see the superhero stride over his comrade.

'Don't you know you can put an eye out with that thing?' Stuntman chuckled. The criminal simply opened fire, expending his clip at Stuntman with a yell. This noise attracted the attention of the others upstairs, from which shouting and the banging of footsteps echoed through the ceiling.

Stuntman studied the holes in his suit with disdain, and looked up at the villain who dropped his weapon in shock. 'OK, pal, the repair costs are coming out of your wages.' Stuntman reached back and in the blink of an eye had gut-punched the criminal straight through the wall on the other side of the hallway.

The hero heard the slam of the stairwell door and turned to look. Two more gunmen were standing there, sub-machineguns ready.

'Alright, _Stunt-guy_, hands up!'

Stuntman wrinkled his nose and studied the men. He could see that they were scared; they were shaking, rifle mechanisms rattling. Taking advantage, he quickly dropped the ground and listened serenely to the roar of the guns over head. Under the cover of noise and muzzle flashes, blinding in the dim hall, Stuntman picked his way along the ground until he reached the two criminals. He whipped his arms out and knocked the gunmen to the ground, then sprang cat-like to his feet. With two kicks he had neutralised the crooks, who, except for the odd snuffle of deep sleep, appeared out for the count.

The bullets impact on the plaster walls had been drastic, filling the air with choking dust. Stuntman seemed unaffected, pausing at the bottom of the stairwell only to polish his goggles. With a skipping motion, he sprinted up the flight of stairs and entered the uncluttered top floor; the managerial penthouse. He stopped on seeing what he was up against. A male bank clerk was tied up in one corner of the room, whimpering. A female clerk was being held up between Stuntman and the final villain, a laser-rifle resting on her shoulder.

'Hands up, Stuntman... or she dies...' Shouted the super-villain, Trouble, from behind the lady clerk. Stuntman quickly responded by stabbing the air with his fists and holding them steady.

'Let the girl go, Trouble... this is between me and you.'

'It's always between us two, Stunty,' Trouble drew the clerk nearer, 'Now I've decided to make the conflict a bit wider.' Stuntman jumped back as Trouble threw the woman to the ground and aimed his laser at her head. She started screaming, but her voice was drowned out by Trouble's pained howl.

The weapon swung widely as Trouble waved his arms over his head, yelling in agony. Trouble squeezed the trigger by reflex, and a laser pulse struck Stuntman in the right shoulder. He yelped and fell to the floor, still aware; keeping his eye on Trouble and the hostages. The villain gave one last cry, then walked out of the room via the same window that the negotiator had left from earlier. Stuntman noticed that his back had been charred black and the smell of ozone wafted through the air. Smiling, he watched his partner swing through the window on a grapple-rope, which retracted with a whir when the new superhero's feet touched down.

'Electroboy! Thanks for the help!'

Electroboy winked from beneath a lightning-white mask and bent down to un-tie the woman. 'No problem, Stunty, but lets get the job done before we celebrate.' Electroboy helped the lady up while Stuntman struggled to his feet, glad that the laser had cauterised the wound, and took the restraints off of the man. They seemed extremely grateful to both superheroes, but had no words for the occasion. Neither hero was upset; they'd rescued people in this state before.

Stuntman was about to wave down to the police below, but a small noise was bothering him. He followed the faint beeping underneath a desk, and nearly swallowed his teeth.

'ELECTRO! OUT OF THE BUILDING, NOW!'

Electroboy got the message, grabbing the male clerk and firing his grapple at the music store roof across the street. In a blur he was gone, and it was Stuntman's turn to execute a tactical withdrawal.

He wrapped his arm around the woman's waist and she responded by grabbing his arm. 'Hold on tight, please.' As the final seconds ticked away until the bomb planted by Trouble detonated, Stuntman took a run up and flung himself from the window, rocketing away into the night sky with his free arm extended. Behind him, the bank went up in a magnificent ball of flame, and he felt the sound waves ripple through him.

The cold wind soothed his panging shoulder and he took the opportunity to study his ward. She was young, early twenties, with cropped straw hair and a freckled face – not his type. She was wearing standard office garb, except for a stubby tie, which Stuntman noted as unusual.

The clerk gasped as London rushed beneath her, its nightlights blinking. Stuntman coasted down to the roof of an apartment block that she had pointed at previously.

She screamed with joy after he put her down onto the flat roof, spinning around on the spot like a ballerina. 'Gosh, sir!' She clasped her hands together and stared up at him, lovingly. 'You saved my life… I'll do anything to repay you! Anything!'

Stuntman looked her up and down, but simply turned away. 'Sorry, not while I'm working-' He was about to give her the spiel about how it was "all in a nights work" but suddenly his stomach grumbled underneath his pastel spandex. He hadn't eaten since lunchtime earlier, and it was now nearly nine in the evening. He touched his shoulder, and was glad to feel it had already partly healed.

'You did say, _anything_, right?'

* * *

Chris sat in a burger bar '"enjoying" a greasy lard-sandwich and a side of fries – and a drink – care of the young banker.

He rolled his shoulder slightly and felt it hurt, but it wasn't as bad as it had been before. 'Getting too old…' He said under his breath, then thought _Never, nothing a couple of paracetamol won't fix up!_

There was the beep of a cash register, and Chris looked up to see his son, Nicholas, approaching with a small coffee. The smaller, though just as well built, figure slid into the chair opposite Chris.

'At least their coffee is better than their food.' Nick mused, smiling.

'H'm…' Chris grunted dejectedly whilst forcing the last morsel of dinner down.

'We did good tonight, Dad.' Said Nick. 'I got Mr. Gough back safely, and by the looks off it, you got the girl home too…' He took a long swig of the scalding hot coffee without batting an eyelid and gestured to his father's cheek with a still gloved hand.

'What?' Chris dabbed his mouth, then touched his cheek. His fingers came away smudged with lipstick. 'Darn it… I didn't even realise she'd done that. I've had it on for two hours.'

'Never mind. I'm kind of glad Gough didn't kiss me, a tea was enough for Electroboy.'

The pair chuckled for a moment, then Chris' mood turned sour. 'We didn't save them all, kiddo.'

Nick shrugged and drained the last of his coffee. 'The negotiator was a cop, he knew what he was getting into…'

'Still,' Replied Chris, aware that his son was actually making him feel better, 'We're superheroes… we should always win.'

* * *

_**We should always win… We're superheroes…**_

_Nicholas, wake up… wake up…_

'NICK! Wake up!' Chris shouted.

'Oh, Dad! Go to blazes why don't you!?'

Chris responded by poking his son in the back of the head. 'Nick! We've just landed, you can't stay in here.'

Nick closed his eyes again. 'M'm, I can try…'


	3. A Little Spin

_Hutchins Field,_

_10 km from the City of Metroville_

'Nick, get the last bag off of the crate and put it on this trolley.' Chris shouted back to his son who was struggling with a large suitcase.

'Righto, pater… and you aren't helping because..?'

'Knees's still giving me jip.'

'Riiight…'

Chris lit a cigar and looked up to see a rather attractive lady jogging up to him.

'Helen Parr, deputy station controller… well, at the weekends.' She shook his hand.

'Chris E. Worthy, aeronautics engineer.'

'Ah, another member of the scientific community, and with an impressive accent, too.'

Chris' chest swelled, but he feigned irritation. 'Yes, it might have something to do with the fact I'm British… you'll find my son sounds much the same.'

Helen smiled warmly. 'Sorry, I didn't mean any offence.'

'None taken.'

Nick dumped the last bag onto the trolley and extended a hand to Helen. Though only sixteen, he was slightly taller than her. 'A pleasure, I'm Nick, uh, Chris' partner in crime.'

Helen took his hand and winked at him, noting the gloves. 'Nice to meet you, I see you indulge in a bit of hero worship as well. My son is dreadful for it, all the costumes…'

Nick blushed, but Chris intervened before he could say anything. 'Um, yeah… he's into the comics, but he really loves the old news reports. Where did they all go? Ha, ha… ha.'

They stood in silence for a moment before Chris looked at his watch and started towards a waiting hire car.

'Sorry, Helen, but we must be off… got a new house to inhabit. Ordered the car in advance, too, so we're going to see the sights. Thanks for the warm welcome.'

'No problem, you must come to dinner at ours some time!'

'OK, we know where to find you!'

Helen waved them off as they drove along the dirt track leading to the paved road into town.

* * *

'Nobody gets it…' Said Nick, suddenly grave. 

'Gets what?'

'My gloves… I'm always a fanboy or a cripple… or some kind of freak…'

Chris just shook his head, not knowing what to say. Partially mesmerised, Nick took off his right glove and stared at his hand. Arcs or electricity jumped from fingertip to fingertip. He didn't notice the car's dashboard, which was going berserk, lights flashing and dials spinning randomly. Chris noticed, and he also noticed the car's steering going awry.

'By Jove, Nick! Put your glove back on! Are you trying to get us killed?'

'Sorry…' Said Nick, before slumping into his seat, arms folded.

* * *

_Atomic Parks Suburban Housing,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 7/12/1975, 12:34 pm_

'That's the last crate.' Stated Chris with relief, dropping the metal container onto the floor of his and his son's new, sizeable cellar.

Chris was an excellent scientist but in many wayshis son surpassed his own technical knowledge; as such, Nick was tasked with setting up their super-gear as fast as Chris could bring it back from the docks. The cellar already looked less like a basement and more like a headquarters. Two glass tubes held their battered, moth-eaten uniforms, banks of electronic components lined the walls and Chris noted that Nick had already assembled the mechanical workstation. He was tinkering with his grapple-deployer, his pride and joy. It allowed him to follow his father to most places, but Stuntman's gift of flight often took him high above the tops of skyscrapers.

Chris stretched his back and collapsed into one of the teams comfy chairs. 'I like what you've done with the place, son.'

Nick smiled and exhaled sharply has he did when working. 'Yeah, we have more space here than we did back home.' He finished tightening a screw and placed the grapple into a desk draw before getting up and opening the last crate. 'Oh, groovy,' he beamed, 'the sensor and view-screen equipment. Uh, I'd best leave this, I'll need to rig up some aerials on the roof.' He indicated "up" with his thumb.

'Goodo.' Chris squinted at his uniform. 'Um, where's my cape?'

Nick rolled his eyes. 'Please, that made you look extremely unfashionable – not to mention it's dangerous!'

'Hey, remember I'm the aeronautics tech! I know full well what a turbo-jet is capable of… besides, if I got sucked in the bird would come off worse.' Chris was referring to his secondary power. Being super, he wastougher than normal people,but he also had the ability to strengthen his body tissues to withstand immense punishment – titanium-skin he called it. Nick called it bones of endo-steel, muscles of reinforced diamond monofilament, and an epidermis of cubic boron nitride. Unfortunately, years of taking advantage of this power made him susceptible to aches and pains.

Chris got to his feet and moved towards his uniform.

'What are you doing?' Nick asked without even looking up.

'I was thinking of going for a little spin-'

'Well, you aren't!' His son cut him off, scowling. 'I don't want you going anywhere until I have the tracker set up. Oh yeah, that reminds me…' He pulled a chewed 2H pencil from behind his ear and jotted some notes down. 'As I was saying, remember the last time you went for a little spin? "Twice around Scotland" you said. Came back two days later and told me Reykjavik was lovely that time of year…'

Realising that he hadn't been paying attention, Nick whipped his head round and saw the empty uniform case. 'Daaaaaaad!' He yelled, then heard the front door slam.

'You git, you git, you git…' He chanted while sprinting upstairs. Running out onto the front lawn just in time for the sonic boom as his father disappeared over the horizon, he looked into the sky with his hand shielding his eyes. 'AH, YOU RUDDY GIMP!' He shouted at the top of his lungs, then hung his head. Before going inside he noticed something on the pavement. Looking up he found a small kid on a tricycle sucking a lollypop.

Nick scratched the back of his head. 'Yup, US air force always testing new planes… yup…'

The kid looking incredulous, well, as far as a six year old could.

Nick whistled. 'OK, how much chocolate will it take to keep you quiet?'

* * *

_Gazer-Beam Memorial Falls,_

_Metroville State Park,_

_USA, 7/12/1975, 1:45 pm_

A scream resonated above the roaring waterfall, splitting the air and drawing the attention of the tourists on the observation deck.

'Help! Please!'

A young girl was clinging for dear life to a fallen tree, but the fast moving current was dragging it, and her, slowly away from the safety of the riverbank. Every second passing brought her closer to the edge.

'Won't anybody do something?' Shouted the onlookers, though none of them was willing to go in, knowing it was fruitless.

'I'll get her, I'm a good swimmer!' Hollered a deep voice. The man was removing his jacket and the next moment had flung himself into the water, arms swinging wildly. His bravery was misplaced, however, and although he fought valiantly, he was swept backwards.

Suddenly, there was a flash of orange, and the man was no longer in the water. He was being carried high into the air by what appeared to by a flaming dart, which swiftly doubled back and dropped the foolish man onto the observation platform. Now the blur stopped moving, becoming a begoggled person hovering several feet above the water's surface.

The figure scanned the river and spotted the girl. She had tired and released her grip on the tree trunk, and was now being careening over the rapids towards the flying hero.

With a whistling howl, the figure plunged towards the girl, scooping her up in a flurry of water droplets. Again turning around, the hero landed softly onto the deck and placed the girl in the recovery position backed by the cheers of the crowd.

'Who is it?'

'Never seen him before…'

'The government didn't repeal the law… did they?'

'Whoever it is, hooray for him!'

The hero whispered into the girls' ear whilst her mother pushed through the crowd. 'Sweetheart… wake up…' He rested his head on her chest and listened intently. 'H'm, she's still alive…'

The mother collapsed at her side and started crying. 'Oh my baby… so cold.' She looked at the hero. 'Thank you so much, thank you…'

'She needs to get to a hospital. I'll get her there quickly. Phone a taxi and get to Metroville General.'

The man picked the girl up and got ready to leap off into the abyss.

'Wait! What's your name, before you go?'

In response, the man jumped, disappearing from view. The crowd gasped but then applauded again as the flying man shrieked up and over them, yelling: 'My name – is Stuntman!'

A visored figure in white stared at the proceedings from an overlooking hill. He touched his ear and spoke in a rich afro-american accent. 'Breaker-breaker… this is Iceman to Big Daddy. Rescue stolen, repeat, stolen by a NEW super. Never seen him before.'

"Iceman" waited for a response and was alarmed when the brush separated behind him revealing a literal ten-ton truck of a man in red spandex.

'Frozone, why use the radio? I was right there.'

'Man, Incredible, don't scare me like that! So, you saw?'

'I did… I don't know who that guy is, but I want to find out. You know, I saw him a while back, on assignment across the pond. I'll put Vi onto the case – she'll keep a hidden eye on him.'

Frozone got to his feet. 'When are you going to tell her that she's got a new assignment?'

'I'll draw up a plan of action over the week and brief her onFriday night. I'm not looking forward to it... she hates recon duty.'


	4. Ideal 80s Car

_Atomic Parks Suburban Housing,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 7/12/1975, 10:18 pm_

Chris landed with a soft _wumph _onto the grass of his front garden and swore when he noticed the living room light still on. Heading to the front door, he took a deep breath before ringing the bell.

A frustrated looking Nick opened the door sharply and gave his father a withering stare. 'And just what time do you call this?' He asked.

Chris cringed. 'Sorry son, I got a bit side-tracked.'

'Side-tracked?'

'Well, yes, what with the hospital forms, and the traffic, and the reporters…'

Nick gasped. 'Traffic? What traffic, you can fly for goodness sake!' He turned as his father stepped into the house. 'And as for reporters – what report worthy actions have you been undertaking?'

Chris shrugged and followed the smell of soup into the kitchen while his boy closed the door. 'Just doing my duty… M'm, is this leek?'

Nick sighed and sat down opposite his father at the table. 'Yes, yes it is.' He looked at his father and almost fell off his chair. 'What the HELL have you done to your suit?'

'My suit?' He checked his shoulders. 'Holy smokes! I knew it was a bit worn around the top, but-'

Nick got to his feet quickly and strode to the other side of the table, studying the scorched holes burnt into Chris' super-suit. 'Dad!' He groaned. 'I'll put your dinner in the oven, go and get changed into something… normal. I'll need to do some serious work to your uniform.'

Chris stood up and walked into the hall, muttering under his breath. 'You should have made it better…'

* * *

Chris finished his soup and moved into the living room where his son was taking a magnifying glass to his suit.

'Crikey… you know, dad, I designed this suit when you were still subsonic. Seeing as you've definitely improved with age I don't think this fabric can take the speeds you push.'

Chris sat down and picked up a thick dossier. 'So..? What's going to happen.'

Nick narrowed his eyes. 'It looks like _I _will have to use _my _time to design a new fabric, just so _you_ can go and save the day again.'

'That's not fair, Nick…' Chris retaliated. 'You're as good a super as I am, maybe better. And you see just as much action.'

A slight smile played across Nick's face. 'I haven't destroyed my suit.'

* * *

An hour drifted away. Nick spent the time cursing over chemical formulas, but each time one failed he wrote down a new string of chemicals and begun to test them out in his head. Chris just read his papers, telling him the procedures for Mirage Industries in America. They weren't all that different to the ones at Fernton Field.

He closed the folder and Nick yawned. 'OK, lad, time to hit the sack.'

'Sure. I think I'll need the rest.'

'How do you feel about school tomorrow?'

Nick waved his arms in a dramatic gesture. 'Ah! It will be a triumph, I'm sure! I shall be spending the day with people I have nothing in common with, who spell incorrectly, who don't study any foreign geography; and who will give me such delightful names as limey, commie, alien, rugger-bugger, oh – and dare I say it?' He presented a hand from behind his back with a slight bow and a fake grin. 'Glove-boy, that old chestnut!'

Chris was only half listening, instead reading an attached note to the dossier. 'That's the spirit, son!' He went into the master bedroom. 'See you in the morning, love you.' He closed the door.

Nick was left alone in the dark hallway. 'Goodnight, dad. God bless.' He'd already showered that night, and was content to get dressed into his pyjama bottoms and crawl into bed.

* * *

_The Following Morning,_

_7:00 am_

Father and son sat in silence eating their breakfast. It wasn't anything special, just cornflakes and nervous bile. Chris didn't start work for another week, but today was Nick's first day at an American school. He had chosen to dress as he always did, pale sand coloured trousers, hot pink Hawaiian shirt, army surplus NATO jacket, and black cadet boots.

He looked down at his empty schoolbag and whimpered. Nick could be extremely confident, gregarious, and generally in a cheerful mood most of the day. However, if something made him nervous, he could be _very _nervous. As well as worrying about first impressions, Nick had to make sure that he didn't get over-excited at school. Bad things happened to circuitry, or anything with any electrical current, when he got over-excited – human beings hold a charge.

There was a knock at the door. Chris looked over but Nick got up to see to it. He wasn't hungry anyway.

A large cargo hauler with the Mirage logo was parked _across _the road, much to the chagrin of early morning commuters. The grey jump-suited fellow that had knocked seemed unfazed by the noise of horns behind him.

'Is this the Worthy residence, sir?' The man asked with a smile.

'Aye, it is. Have we got a package?'

'A couple, and might I add, sent by the fastest courier service in the world!' He continued grinning. Nick wasn't impressed; his dad had been fed Mirage's company propaganda since he started. In retrospect, he was glad he got the door, if not his dad and this courier might have done the secret handshake.

'Look, I'm not happy this morning, so please shut up and let us have our parcels.'

The courier's face saddened. 'OK, sir. Just place your thumb here.'

The man produced a small metal cube, and Nick dutifully placed his thumb into it. There was a prickly feeling, then a beep. '_Worthy, Nick._ _DNA sample matches profile. Deliver objects._'

Nick withdrew his appendage. 'So..?'

'Ah, here you go.' The courier bent down and picked up a medium sized cardboard box. Nick took it, it wasn't very heavy, and placed it just inside the front door.

'Is that all?'

'No, sir. Where would you like us to park the Jaguar?'

'Um-' Nick heard a smash from the kitchen, and his father ran out to the door.

'I'll field that question!'

* * *

'We have a Jag?' Asked Nick, though it was obvious they did since he was standing in front of it.

'Oh. My. Word.' His father replied, stroking the bonnet. 'It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life!' He looked at Nick. 'How would you like your dad to drive you to school in this baby?'

'Maybe since we've got to be there in-' He checked his watch. '-under an hour, you should take the hire today. You need more time than fifty minutes time to digest this.' Nick held a beefy user manual up in the dawn light.

'Nonsense, boy! I've driven a Jag before, you know!'

'Not like this, you haven't.' Nick looked at the cover. 'The Jaguar-Mirage XK-50 Prototype Operations Vehicle: It and You.'

Chris slowly turned around and got into the drivers seat, this time paying more attention to the large instrument panels strewn about the front of the car. 'Blast! There must be over a million buttons in here! It's something from a Bond film.'

'No…' Replied Nick. 'According to this it has only 40,000 different functions.' He flipped to another page. 'Right: Starting the XK-50 is extremely complicated and requires at least a lot of concentration. Insert key into ignition slot. Turn key.'

Chris tried to maintain a straight face for as long as he could, then burst out laughing. 'What? That's easy!' He groped at the base of the wheel. 'Uh, where's the key?'

Nick threw his bag and the parcel box into the boot and jumped into the front passenger seat, noticing the car was configured for British roads, driver on the right. He reached up and pulled down the sun-flap, dropping the keys into Chris' lap.

'Thanks, son. Now, insert and turn…' He did so, and the car came to life. The engine didn't sound like it burnt petrol, as it spun up with progressively louder whirring. Lights blinked on all everywhere, and monitoring devices reported their highest reading before zeroing, except for one labelled 'REACTOR OUTPUT', which blinked on at one hundred percent.

The car addressed them in the same matter-of-fact tone as the DNA sampler had done earlier. '_Entropy reactor output nominal. Initiate start-up procedure?_'

Chris' voice was cracking with excitement. 'Yes, initiate.'

'_Ablative armour monitoring, online… electromagnetic shielding, online… stealth functions, online… afterburners, online… flight mode, online… sensor suite, online… weapons, online… All systems nominal._' A double-fronted hand scanner slipped out from above the gear-stick. '_Please verify identities._'

Chris and Nick placed their hands onto the scanner at the same time.

'_Driver: Worthy, Christopher Edward. Callsign: Stuntman – verified. Life-signs nominal. Passenger: Worthy, Nicholas. Callsign: Electroboy – verified. Compensate for EM activity. Life-signs, nominal._'

Nick seemed happier than he had done upon waking. 'H'm, pretty smart car. Hey, dad, fancy taking her for a test run… I've still got a while before school.'

'I wondered when you were going to suggest that.' He fastened the five-point harness and Nick did the same. 'You're too much like your old man.'

'_Drive mode, engaged. HUD warming up, in transit warning system, online. Time is 0720 ZULU. Please, drive carefully._'

* * *

The new car handled like dream. Chris took it downtown, to Little Ireland, round the financial district, and was now on the freeway to the north of town.

'I wonder,' said Nick, 'XK-50, are we in danger of being seen on this stretch of road?'

'_My sensors do not indicate so, Electroboy._'

'Activate stealth mode.'

'Nick? What are you doing-?'

The car had already responded to the command. '_Electronics counter-measures suite engaged, passive radar engaged. Engine baffles in place. Charging mimetic-armour plates._'

As it drove along, the car started to fade away into the background, and in seconds had merged with the tarmac; even reproducing the road markings.

Father and son spoke as one. 'Cool!'

'_ALERT! According to the data you provided me with, Electroboy begins school in five minutes, we are at our range limit for arriving on time!_'

'Oh no…' Whined Nick. 'What an impression I'm going to make, I can hear it now! Tardy, they'll shout, TARDY!'

'Now hang on a minute, Nick. Car: what do you mean range limit?'

'_At top speed, we can still arrive at 0830 ZULU. May I recommend auto-pilot?_'

Chris inputted the name of the school into a keypad, and after scanning it's GPS, the car retracted the steering wheel from Chris' grip and made a gut-wrenching boot-legger turn.

'Oh cripes! We're going to die! The car's AI wasn't finished, I know it!'

The Jaguar tore up the road back into town, the engine screaming like a beast in pain. '_130 km/h…_' The car stated.'_150 km/h, 170 km/h, 200 km/h, 260 km/h: optimum take-off speed._'

'Take-off speed?'

'Oh dear…'

'DAD! It did say auto-_pilot_!'

The car started to morph, body facets melting seamlessly into one another, until it appeared far more streamlined than it had before. Finally, a pair of silver jet-nozzles projected from the trunk and two armour plates to the rear folded out to form stubby winglets.

'_Afterburners online, we are airborne. Please remain calm. ETA at school, two minutes._'

It soared into the air on two pillars of smoke from the jets in the back. For a second, it appeared they were going to strike a skyscraper, but the car jinked at the last moment, diving to ground level. The car sped over the heads of numerous commuters, and Chris was quick to speak up.

'Car!' His voice was strained as he was being pressed into the back of his seat. 'We're going to be seen!'

'_Negative, Stuntman, though your caution is understood. We are still cloaked._'

Nick sounded worse off than his dad, but still managed to squeeze out a grin. 'I knew it would come in handy!'

The Jaguar passed low under a footbridge and winged around a right hand turn bringing it onto the school road.

'_Vertical landing systems engaged. Stand by for touchdown._'

Bursts of flame spat from the underside of the car, and it settled gently onto the side of the road. With a mechanical sound, the Jag morphed back into a regular sportscar and the stealth protocols disengaged.

'_Flight time, one minute ten seconds. Thank you. The car is now under driver control._'

* * *

_Constance J. Fudge High School,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 8:30 am_

Chris placed his hands calmly onto the steering wheel, and started screaming. He stopped when his beaming son thrust a cardboard box at him.

'I must have been wrong about the school times. We're early.' Sure enough, there were no other cars on this stretch of road, and Chris couldn't see any lights on in the school building. 'Shall we see what else our benefactors sent us?' Nick stifled a giggle. 'Gosh, dad, you look really ill. And you can fly!'

'Shut up…' He turned off the "super-jag" and pushed his seat back to better open the box. 'Let's see what we have here.'

It was a small note, and what seemed to be a lot of bubble-wrap. Nick took the note and read the first line, written in delicate, spindly handwriting. 'Dear Mr. Worthy and son, please find enclosed something to get you both started in the US. I trust you should find them satisfactory. Love, M. PS: Christopher, at work by 9:10 am one week from now.' Two other blocks of capital text, interspersed with random German characters, were at the bottom of the note.

Chris pulled off the bubble-wrap and produced a bright gold and orange super-suit. It glittered in the morning sun like it was made of glass. 'Wow… it's breathtaking!'

Nick cleared his throat. 'There's more to this note, I think it's talking about that: The suit for Stuntman is made of a new material called "Frictex". It is able to withstand the heat caused by friction of air particles at ground level up to a speed of mach 40. The surface of the garment was laser flattened for reduced drag. To accentuate body-reinforcement, the material is also extremely durable, with a tensile strength exceeding that of carbon steel. NB: Not bullet-proof, impact proof – you rely on your own skill for projectile protection. Use own goggles. Dry-clean only.'

Chris stared at his new uniform for a minute, then without a word placed it and the attached cape on the rear seat. Next, he removed a smaller suit, coloured very pale blue with yellow warning stripes. 'Nick, this looks your size.'

Nick continued reading. 'Suit number two is for young Electroboy. It is remarkably resistant to all forms of damage, but especially the devastating effects of extreme radiation. The fabric is a highly conductive polymer, make of it what you will, and is bullet-proof against all rounds under .50 calibre – beware bruising after being shot. Though both suits feature sophisticated electronics for communication and location, the circuits in this garment are fully insulated against electromagnetic interference. Boots are extra light for better agility. Gloves feature capacitors for long ranged attacks. Do not iron.'

The pair sat dumbfounded for a minute, until the next car of the morning pulled in front of the school. Nick stuffed his suit into his schoolbag, and Chris jammed his back into the box before anybody could see.

Nick took a deep breath and opened the car door. 'Well, I guess these will come in handy at some time or another. Have a good one, dad.'

'You too, lad. Make friends, learn lots,' he glanced at his son and turned on the car. 'save lives…'

Before Nick could reply, the Jaguar had pulled out and was speeding away from him. He started walking up the steps into the high school building and probed the impressive granite façade with his eyes. 'Once more into the breach.' He muttered, before passing through the double doors and into his new life.


	5. For a Girl Like That

_Constance J. Fudge High School,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 8:45 am_

Nick came out of the school building and sat down on the steps. He stretched his legs out and squinted into the winter-sun that was rising over the buildings on the opposite side of the road. The boy that had arrived just after himself, prompting Nick and his father to hide their new suits, appeared to be having a friendly discussion with his mother; he then shouldered a sports-bag and jogged along the path and up into the school.

He stopped and made a double take, turning and fixing his eyes onto Nick who stared back dolefully.

'You OK?' The boy asked. He was tall and fairly heavily built. Back in England he would have made an awe-inspiring rugby forward. 'Why're you sitting there? It's early but you can go to your registration class.'

'Sorry, I wouldn't know, I'm new.' Nick got up and shook the boys hand. 'I'm Nick Worthy.'

'Hey! I'm James O'Shannachan, but my friends just call me Jimbo, or just Jim.'

'Nice to meet you.'

'Same here, Nick.' Jim rubbed his chin. 'Hey, you ain't from around here are you? As in, not from anywhere near here?'

'No. My father and I have just moved in from the United Kingdom.'

Jim grinned. 'Oh, sweet! I went to across the pond once, ya'know. Just a short holiday to London.'

'What did you think of it?' Nick asked, genuinely interested.

'It was pretty cool, yeah. But I tell ya; the best bit was when these two British supers saved a bunch of people from a burning barge. I got one of the pair's autographs.' Jim whipped a small leather-bound book from his jacket and dropped his bag. 'Ah, here it is. I've got a picture of them too!'

Nick looked at the book. There was his signature on the right-hand page alongside a grainy picture of him and his dad standing on London Bridge. Electroboy was making bunny ears behind Stuntman's head. The left-hand page featured a better quality photo of a pretty heroine signed "Stratogirl".

Nick smiled inwardly and feigned ignorance. 'Electroboy, eh? I've heard of the other one, uh, Stuntman is his name I think.'

'Yeah! I missed him before he flew away, but this guy had to wait for a London taxi.' Jim laughed. 'Say, you look a bit like him…' He held up the book to compare Nick to the image inside. 'But – nah… you're far more muscular, no offence to Electroboy.'

'None taken.' Nick muttered.

'What was that?'

'Oh, nothing.' Nick checked himself. 'Just asking if you could show me around a little bit?'

'Heck, sure!' Jim replaced the book and picked up his bag. 'Do you know whose form you're in?'

'Hang on.' Nick pulled out a letter. 'Mrs. Magurndy's set.'

Jim got the door for Nick. 'Great! That's my set!'

'Looks like I found the right guy!' Nick laughed.

---

Jim gave Nick a brief tour of the building. It was vast and seemed to have more facilities in total than the old Grammar back home. By the time Jim finished, the corridors were already clogged with students grabbing their books and heading to registration.

Nick pointed somebody out in the crowd as he and his friend struggled to Mrs. Magurndy's room. 'Who's that?' He asked, his voice tense.

'Who?' Jim glanced in the direction indicated to him. 'Oh, that's Amy Hudson. She's really hot!'

'No, not her!' Nick frowned and pointed again. 'The other girl, with the dark hair.'

Jim snorted, though not in an entirely unfriendly fashion. 'Violet Parr?' He asked rhetorically. 'She's not my type, but I guess whatever turns you on, pal. 'Sides, I think she's already taken.'

Nick realised he'd been gawping and closed his mouth. 'I'd gladly go to hell and back for a girl like that, she's beautiful…'

Jim laughed. 'Come on, time for roll-call.'

---

Nick took a free desk at the back of the classroom, next to Jim, and waited for the room to fill up. Most arrived just prior to the bell, the rest being herded in by Mrs. Magurndy.

'OK, kids. Settle down.' She stood at the front of the classroom, a small, wizened figure. 'Before I take the register, I have a little matter to bring up; today, we have a new face amongst us.'

Numerous heads turned to look at Nick who just smiled nervously in return.

'Nicholas Worthy, would you please come to the front?'

He got up slowly, every instinct telling him not to move, but his body powerless to resist the teacher's order. He felt dozens of eyes boring into his back, and just before reaching the front he whipped around and most of the class jumped – a few girls giggled. Jim just gave him a big thumbs up.

Mrs. Magurndy had to look up to Nick, and had a warm smile that reminded Nick of his grandfather, Edward.

'Hello, Nicholas. Would you like to perhaps say a few things about yourself to the class?' It was phrased as a question, but Nick knew it was in fact a command.

He coughed into his fist and addressed the waiting crowd. 'Well, um, I like to be called Nick, I guess, but my teacher's used to call me just by my surname. I come from England, but we had to move here because of my dad's work. He's an engineer at Mirage Industries.' Nick scratched his head thoughtfully. 'Uh, I like disco music and classical stuff, but I'll listen to anything really. I love science, and tinkering with mechanical things… so, yup, that's me I guess.'

Mrs. Magurndy smiled. 'Thank you, Nick.' She turned to her pupils. 'Are there any questions for Nick?'

A girl with blonde hair and dark brown eyes put her hand up. She spoke with lisp, and Nick recognised her as Amy Hudson. 'Do you play a musical instrument?'

'No, I take – took – singing lessons back in England.'

'What's with the gloves?' Asked a small redhead boy in the front row. He seemed innocent enough so Nick took it in his stride.

'It was a horrific barbecue accident three years ago. I need to keep what's left of my skin covered.' He drew nearer to the boy, causing his eyes to widen, and moved to take a glove off. 'Wanna see?'

The boy groaned and sharply looked away, prompting laughs from those around him.

'So, glove-boy?' Sneered a voice from Nick's left. 'What's it like being a Limey?'

The class was rendered silent and Nick scowled at the person from which the comment came.

'Mr. Rydinger!' Shouted Mrs. Magurndy in a weak, yet firm, voice. 'I really don't think that was appropriate comment at this time!'

A hulking young man in the seat behind whooped. 'You go, Tony!'

'That is enough! Both of you will stay behind after registration! Tony, this is not how you normally behave, I hope you just got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. As for you, Mr. Kennedy, one more outburst like that and I'll send you to the principal, again.' Mrs. Magurndy took her seat. Tony seemed taken aback, and was reading the scribing on his desk. 'Thank you, Nick, you may return to your seat.'

Nick kept his gaze fixed on Rydinger on the way back to his place and clenched his fist. Tony shivered as shocking sensation ran up and down his spine.

'OK, now that's settled, I can start making sure you're present.' She opened a folder and took out a biro from within its pages. 'Audrey, Leonard…'

---

'Don't worry too much about Tony, he's been twitchy recently.' Said Jim as he and Nick forged a path to their first lesson, physics.

'What's been eating him, then?' Asked Nick.

'Nothing, apparently that's the problem.' Replied Jim with a queer grin. The innuendo was tangible.

They pushed open the doors into the lab and took seats at the front. Nick gasped; he had never seen so much scientific equipment before in his life. It was beautiful.

'All right, set, please take your places. We have a busy lesson ahead of us.' Nick was surprised to hear the tutor's thick German accent. When the man turned around, holding a new notebook, Nick was staring into the eyes of a carbon copy of Albert Einstein at thirty. 'Good morning, class. _Ach, so_… you must be Nick, Chris' son.' He put the book and a small silver card down onto the lab bench. 'This for your father, he will know what to do with it.'

Nick read the card, embossed on it was "CLOCKSTOPPER – Clearance Level Six" and a telephone number. He pocketed the card with one movement and got out a pen, opening the notebook at the first page.

'OK, now that the new physicist has his stationary we can begin. Last time, we were on the structure of atoms…'

---

There was a short ten-minute break after physics. The lesson had lasted two hours, and during that time Nick was sure he had made himself Dr. Dekker's new pet. Thankfully, Tony wasn't there to make anything of it. Instead, he noticed the thin, raven-haired girl from earlier sitting across the way at a smaller bench with two other girls. When he wasn't writing or watching a demonstration, Nick secretively watched her.

At break, Jim had excused himself to go and talk with Amy Hudson, and so Nick amused himself by leaning against a red brick wall watching the other kids enjoying their short stretch of freedom.

Scanning from left to right, he spotted Violet Parr up against a classroom building. She appeared to be studying her reflection in a window. Reaching up, she pulled a purple hair-band from her black locks, letting them fall over the right side of her face. Nick noticed that her hair shimmered blue as the light hit it.

She turned away from the window and started striding to the doors back into school. Nick made his move, sprinting across the yard to where she had just been.

'Excuse me.' He said, stooping to pick up the hair-band from the muddy puddle in which it had been dropped. 'You lost this.'

Violet slowly turned to face him, not that she actually looked at his face. 'Leave it.' She drawled with a faint sob. 'I don't want it anymore.'

Nick finished wiping the grime from it and slipped it into a coat pocket. 'Righto. Well, I've still got it if you ever want it back. May I ask why you don't need it any more?'

Violet shot a look at him with her uncovered eye, and then sat on a bench. She was glad of somebody to talk to, and this British lad seemed a good listener. 'My boyfriend – former boyfriend – liked me with my hair back. I don't care what he thinks anymore… jerk.' She stopped abruptly and her tone darkened. 'What am I telling you this for, anyway? All boys want one thing and one thing only! To get into girl's underwear!'

Nick shook his head and sat down next to her, taking the hair-band from his coat. 'That's really not fair…'

'I think it's perfectly fair!' She whinnied, striking Nick sharply on the wrist. He let the band slip from his fingers and it tumbled to the ground. Nick didn't bend to get it; instead he retracted his hand in a defensive gesture. It had the right effect, calming Violet down. 'Oh, I hurt you…' She reached for his hand but he kept it at a distance. 'I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling too good at the moment.'

'So I can see.' Responded Nick, picking up the hair-band for the second time. He rubbed a thumb over its smooth surface. 'You probably don't care, but for the record I think you look really good with your hair back. You have a very pretty face, and it's a shame to cover it up.'

Violet gave a sobbing laugh, and a tear rolled down her delicate cheek. 'You're sweet, but I-' She took out a tissue and blew her nose. 'I just need to be left alone.' She looked at her feet. 'What's your name, by the way?'

'I'm Nick.' He answered. Violet repeated the name under her breath. 'I can see you're upset, but will you at least tell me who got you like this?'

'It was Tony Rydin-' She started, but was cut off by the sound of the hair-band snapping in Nick's grip.

'Rydinger!' He stated, dropping the plastic pieces as he got to his feet. Violet thought about protesting, but a morbid curiosity kept her quiet.

Tony was laughing and joking with a group of his chums, one of which was the big ape Kennedy. Nick walked purposefully up behind Tony and tapped him on the shoulder. As he twisted to see what it was, Nick extended his fist like lightning into Tony's jaw. He fell onto his backside and started pumping his legs against the gravel to try and gain ground. Nick took another step so he was looking directly down at Tony.

'What the heck was that for? I think you broke something.' He yelped before spitting out a tooth and a glob of blood.

Nick sounded as massive and threatening as he could, difficult when you're resisting the urge to laugh out loud. 'You know full well what I did that for, boyo! Dumping Violet because you couldn't get her undressed is something I find offensive! The next time you pull any nasty trick on any of my… friends, you'll lose more than one tooth. Am I clear?'

Kennedy stepped up to defend Tony's prone body, but Nick assumed a combat stance, hands suspended ready to defend or attack, and the brute backed off. Nick wouldn't give ground to hardened criminals; this lackey didn't scare him.

Tony stammered from the ground. 'Y- you're c- crystal clear… You won't h- have any more trouble… I'm s- sorry.'

'That's more like it, sir.' Nick grabbed the lapels of Tony's jacket and pulled him to his feet, then turned to walk back to where Violet was waiting. She watched him get half-way then darted for the entrance. Nick noticed that she was in the process of tying her hair back with a bobble.

He smirked. 'I think I'm going to enjoy America.'


	6. The Discipline of Science

_Atomic Parks Suburban Housing,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 10:20 am_

Chris Worthy continued to take the new car through its paces for a while after Nick had been dropped off. It was certainly a magnificent piece of equipment, but something bugged him about it. The car, the super-suits, were sent courtesy of an "M" from, oddly enough, Mirage Industries. Had Mirage, Chris' boss, put two and two together and pegged him as Stuntman? He guessed so, especially considering her contacts in the world superhero community – they would know the signs to look for. Chris' dash to save pilot Henson would most likely have cast a suspicious light on his activities over the years, and it wouldn't have taken much probing to reveal that Chris had a habit of making important phone-calls during emergencies.

He sighed and pulled the Jaguar into his garage. Pulling on the handbrake, he aimed the remote control behind him and pressed it, causing the metal door to clatter down abruptly. Switched the car off, its "reactor" spluttering into inaction, he grabbed his new suit from the rear of the vehicle, taking it into the kitchen.

Chris found a wire hangar and slid the suit onto it. Hanging it on a door lintel, he took a seat and studied it from the kitchen table. As he had noticed before, it was a vibrant, yet not an oppressive, orange, with golden streaks running along the arms and legs. The cape was red. Chris squinted at the emblem on the uniform's chest – it was a white biplane superimposed over a metallic diamond. The aeroplane's contrail formed a stylised letter "S". The fabric shone like brass in the watery sunshine.

'Thanks, Mirage.' Whispered Chris. He stood up and returned to the garage to grab the Jaguar's user-manual.

He sat in a comfy chair for a while, reading the first few chapters. The car was less a normal super-transporter and more like a sleek infantry fighting vehicle. Not only was it heavily armoured, complete with rudimentary "phase shields" – whatever they are – but its onboard weapons payload could put a main battle tank to shame.

Chris finished a section entitled "Arming the Emergency Traffic Clearance Device" and closed the book slowly. He wasn't a slothful man in the least, but it seemed now that it would be the first time in a long while he had some free time. He gazed around. No pictures were askew, no clothes needed to be put away, no washing up… he put the book on and end table and grabbed the super-suit from the lintel.

Chris emerged from the bathroom a minute later and looked at himself in the bedroom mirror. He flexed his muscles then relaxed with a moan. He had kept in shape over the years, constant action did that for him, but he couldn't shake the knowledge that age was catching up with him. Still, life begins at thirty-six.

He did a few body reinforcement practices, and a couple of star-jumps, the last one of which he didn't finish, instead staying suspended in the air. 'Everything still works, good.' Appeased, Chris took the suit off and got dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a loose fitting flannel shirt.

He was about to go for walk around the block when he remembered last night. He had been out for a long time and wondered what his son had gotten up to. He headed to the cellar door and read a note pinned on the door. "Please wear safety clothing – goggles required." 'Yeah right…' He opened the door and saw three large lab-coats and pairs of darkened goggles hanging from pegs on the wall. He shrugged, taken aback, and slid into the biggest white coat.

Chris hit a light switch and a grid of harsh fluorescents clicked on. He first made a cursory check of the room, walking the perimeter, making sure everything was in its correct place. As per usual, Nick's set up had been flawless. He paused for a second, fiddling with the police scanner in the vain hope that there was a situation that called for a super's intervention. It was a frustratingly slow day by the sound of things, most radio communications consisting of mentions to doughnuts and the annual MVPD gala evening.

He got ready to climb back upstairs when he spotted something on the work-desk – a strange looking gun, with a very short muzzle and a pistol grip. It was made out of some kind of greenish alloy and alongside it were a couple of equally strange "clips" which looks more like nine-volt batteries.

Chris reached for it when he spotted a post-it note on the pistol. "DO NOT TOUCH" it stated, and this warning was exclaimed numerous times. Chris picked it up anyway, and saw another note stuck underneath it. "I knew you couldn't resist… feel free to test-fire but DO NOT set it higher than LOW. DO NOT try to change the charge-pack".

Chris smiled and held the gun up to his ear, giving it a shake. It didn't make a sound, and felt very sturdy in his hand. The words "RAYGUN MK. II" were scratched on the side of the barrel, probably by the end of a screwdriver. He saw a metal sheet hanging from the far wall and raised the weapon to fire. Squeezing the trigger, he heard a faint humming and a series of glowing sine waves streamed from the weapon at the target. The metal started to glow, then melt, then the area on which the beam was focused exploded with a poof of black gas.

Chris made an impressed noise and saw a tiny dial on the grip. It went from "low" to "overkill". Thinking no harm could come of it, and disregarding Nick's note, he turned it to "high" and aimed at a pile of breeze-blocks below the previous target.

He pulled the trigger, but the gun just made a grunt, a few unimpressive sparks flying from it. 'Ah, come on!' Chris tried again, and this time the weapon started to emit a rapidly loudening wail and got very hot, prompting him to drop it to the floor. 'Not good… OH BUGGER!' Chris jumped up the stairs two at a time, slamming the cellar door behind him before he heard a muffled _bang _and a shattering sound. White wisps of smoke drifted underneath the door.

He was about to check what damage he had caused but, to his relief, the phone jingled at him from the kitchen. As glad as he was to ignore the ray-gun fiasco, the news wasn't good.

'Mr. Christopher Worthy?' Said a high-pitched voice at the other end of the line.

'Yes, this is he.' His voice was rapid. 'Who is this calling?'

'This is vice-principal Kilgore from the Constance Fudge High School. We have a problem…'

'Oh dear!' Exclaimed Chris. 'Is my son alright?'

'Oh, he's perfectly fine Mr. Worthy. It's the young boy he almost knocked-out whom we're a bit more concerned about.'

Chris rubbed his hand over his face in an exasperated gesture. 'Oh Lordy… I'll be right there, Mr. Kilgore, we'll sort this out.'

---

_Constance J. Fudge High School,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 12:00 pm_

'Come in, sir.' Murmured Kilgore from behind his mahogany desk. Chris stalked across the room, taking an uncomfortable wooden chair next to his disgruntled son, facing him.

He looked at Nick. 'What's this all about, then?'

Nick spoke clearly and concisely. 'A friend of mine, a girl, was hurt by the boy I hit, so I took it upon myself to… _discuss _the matter with him.'

'Discuss it, as in, you decided to introduce your fist to his face?' Chris tutted.

Nick raised an eyebrow and exhaled. 'I didn't intend for it to be a long discussion.'

'How was she harmed?'

'Emotionally.' Nick replied, un-crossing his arms. 'This Tony fellow dropped her when he realised that she wouldn't put out.'

Kilgore snorted and clasped his hands together on his desk. 'So, Nick, you admit there was no need for such action-?'

Chris snapped at the vice-principal. 'He admits nothing! The way he tells it, I'm beginning to agree with my sons motive, if not the execution.' Nick grinned.

Kilgore appeared shocked. 'I beg your pardon?' His mouth turned down at the edges. 'You are aware that he barely knew this girl?'

'What better way to get to know her than to stick up for her?' Chris turned in his seat to look at Kilgore. 'I always raised my son to help out anybody that needed it, no matter what kind of assistance it would be. Nick is remarkably empathic; he probably felt for this girl and as such decided to leap into action to ease her pain...'

'It would ease her pain to see Tony hit?' Kilgore quizzed.

'If I were her, it would.' Nick added.

'Nobody asked you!' the VP yelled.

Chris sprung to his feet. 'Excuse me, Mr. Kilgore, but that was uncalled for!' He got his son up. 'Nick, what lessons do you have this afternoon?'

'Maths, private study.'

Chris looked at Kilgore with angry eyes. 'I will return to pick my son up from school at the beginning of his private study session. I find your attitude to be, frankly, awful.' Nick started to chuckle but his father smacked him in the back of the head. 'And you can be quiet! Rest assured you will be dealt with when I come for you… you have nothing to look forward to!' Again to Kilgore, who was lost for words. 'I will discipline my son… If it makes you feel better, tell this Tony's parents that you had him partially excluded. That should make them happy enough. Though I doubt he will, if Nick ever does anything like this again, don't bother calling. Deal with him as you see fit.'

Kilgore smiled devilishly, eying Nick as he walked from his office.

---

_In transit, Traction Road,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 2:18 pm_

Nick and Chris had remained mostly silent on the way home from school. Nick felt awkward being out in a sports car when he should have been in school, but maybe it was for the best.

He glanced at his dad and thought about saying something, but then changed his mind. As it was, Chris was the first to make a noise, bursting out with a belly laugh.

'HA! Well done, son!' He stretched out a hand and Nick slapped it with his.

'Cheers, dad… but, maybe I should have left it?'

Chris frowned. 'Nonsense. You did what you thought was right.'

'I didn't need to hit him, I can hold my own in an argument.'

Chris shrugged. 'Son, you have a temper, probably got it from your mother, God bless her soul…'

'Yeah…' Nick said. 'I have to calm down I think. It's just that when something happens it can just… get me, right-' He pointed at his chest. 'Here. Right here.'

'I know what you mean.' Chris pulled over in front of an ice-cream parlour. 'I started getting that when I was a teenager as well. It's a good thing.'

'It's not a good thing if I end up beating the snot out of another student.'

Chris undid his belt and looked at his son. 'Nick, part of being a hero is to react like that when someone is in anguish, or being threatened. But you'll find that you _know_ when to show restraint and when to fight tooth and nail. What I'm getting at is that Tony probably just needed a little shock, but you wouldn't have killed him… would you?'

'N- no… now I think back, I didn't want to hurt him badly.'

Chris smiled and opened his door. 'What did I tell you?'

---

_Atomic Parks Suburban Housing,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 4:10 pm_

'Well…' Said Nick, his belly full of chocolate ice-cream. 'That was lovely, but I can't help thinking that you're buttering me up for something…'

_Perceptive boy, _thought Chris. 'Wow. I couldn't eat another thing, son… phew!'

'Dad?' Nick got out and stretched. 'You're being evasive.'

'No I'm not.' Chris locked the car and stood blocking the front door.

'Then why aren't you letting me in?'

'No reason… really…'

Nick shook his head and clucked his tongue. 'You touched the ray-gun, didn't you?'

Chris nodded.

'You set it higher than I said, didn't you?'

Chris, again, nodded. 'I'm sorry, son.'

'Never mind, the bang shouldn't have been too bad at medium setting… thank God I know you aren't daft enough to have put it on high, or higher…'

Chris shuffled his feet nervously.

'No… you're joking!' Nick laughed. 'Please tell me you didn't!'

'I'm _really _sorry, son.'

'No… you couldn't…' Nick pushed his way past his father and into the house, then slammed the cellar door and ran downstairs.

There was a shocked silence and then Chris heard his boy screaming blue murder from below the floor. 'OH YOU BLOODY FOOL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?'

Chris slowly closed the front door and moved to the living room while strings of curses and the noise of clearing up emanated from beneath his feet.


	7. Call to Action

_Neutron Row,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 6:40 pm_

'Vi, you're not eating.' Helen Parr gave her daughter a verbal prod from across the table. She and her husband, Robert "Bob" Parr had already finished their dinners, and Bob was reading an evening newspaper which he'd spread absentmindedly across his gravy-drenched plate.

'No surprise there, then.' Said Violet's ten-year-old brother, Dashiel – or just Dash. He had eaten even quicker than usual tonight, as he was heading to a baseball game with his friends. Violet just looked at her fork and Dash took another shot. 'Probably thinking about Tony…'

The eating tool fell with a clatter and Helen jumped. 'Honey..?' Her daughter's face was pale. 'What's wrong? You don't look too well.'

Violet pushed the plate away. 'I'm just not hungry, sorry mom.'

'That's OK, sweetie. It's no great loss, I'll put the plate into the fridge and maybe I can warm it later for you?'

Dash whinged. 'That's no fair, I always have to clean my plate…'

Helen was disgruntled. 'With your metabolism it's risky for you not to eat everything. Besides, you have a very healthy appetite.' She looked at Bob. 'Go get dressed for the game, Dash, dad will take you in a minute.'

'Yes!' He shouted, running around the table a couple of times before hurtling into his room. Bob snuffled a short laugh but his face soon straightened as he went back to the paper.

Helen wrinkled her nose but turned back to Violet, stretching an arm to take the plate from the table and into the kitchen. 'This is about Tony, isn't it?'

Violet sniffed. 'It is… he dumped me.'

'Oh, sweetheart!' Wailed Helen. 'I know exactly what it's like, I was young once, and I know it hurts, a lot, but…' She stopped, partly confused. 'But… you're not crying?'

Violet gave a final sniff, the faintest trace of a smile cracking her features. 'I- I was really upset, but, there's this new boy at school.' She pushed a hair behind her left ear and stared into middle distance dreamily. 'He's called Nick…' Helen pursed her lips. 'I was really rude to him but when I told him that Tony had been cruel he hi-' She stopped and swallowed before looking at the tabletop. 'He talked to Tony about it for me.'

Helen got up and started to clear the table. 'Would this "Nick" be English?'

Violet sighed heavily. 'Yeah…'

'Tall, long nose, small ears, burnt umber hair, little bit of baby-fat around the middle, broad shoulders?'

Violet just sighed again and nodded.

Helen was about to say something about getting Nick to attack Tony, but Bob interrupted her. 'Interesting… very interesting…'

'What is dear? I couldn't help but notice you were reading at the table.'

'This article in the Evening Chronicle. Look.' Bob lifted the paper from his plate and slid it to the centre of the table. It left a trail of grease as it went and Helen muttered something under her breath.

It was on page six – the headline read "MYSTERY SUPER SAVES CITIZEN". A large black and white picture of something that looked like a flying human figure carrying a child dominated the top half of the page. Violet and Helen took a moment to scan the document. It mentioned a possible name – "Stuntman" – a strange accent, and the fact that nobody in any official post could give any information. The end of the article offered money to persons that could come forward with data regarding the new superhero.

Helen finished wiping the table and took her seat again, looking at first her husband then her daughter. Violet was disturbed from a more detailed reading of the article by a pack of photos thrown to her by Bob.

'Vi.' He began. 'I have been speaking with Captain Guess of the police, and to Agent Dicker, and we have come to an arrangement.' Violet started looking at the images. They were all posed portrait shots of two superheroes, named as Stuntman and Electroboy. The two looked remarkably familiar, like Dash and his father, and Violet could swear she remembered the younger one's face from somewhere. 'Tonight, at around eleven, there will be a "diamond robbery" downtown. We will not be there, but you will, and if I'm right so will this Stuntman character. I need you to watch him tonight, see if he brings his little friend along, where he goes, what he does, gather all the information you can; then report back to your mother at the airfield tomorrow morning before ten.'

'Seems simple enough.' Said Violet. 'But you know I hate this kind of work.'

'We know.' Replied Helen, who had not had a chance to look at the photos closely. If she had, she would have put her finger on the hero's true identity immediately. 'But it's very important that we find out all we can. Remember, you can go to any police station and expect a meal and drink for nothing. We don't expect you to be out in the cold all night. Get what you can, then head to a station to catch some zees. Move out in the morning. I'll be waiting.'

Bob smiled. 'By mid-day tomorrow, you will be able to enjoy your weekend.'

Dash sped out of his room and jumped into his dad's arms. 'OK, Dash, ready to go to the game?'

'Sure am!' Dash replied. He seemed really happy, but Violet wasn't. When he was tucked up in bed she would either be on a couch in a cop staff-room or tracking foreigners through the night. Still, there was one upside. She needed to settle the odd feeling she had when she saw Electroboy's photo, and this gave her the chance. And she guessed this meant that her parents trusted her enough to go solo.

She stood up and half-listened to Bob leaving the house. A car door slammed, and the family people-carrier drove into the darkness with a receding grumble.

Helen wrapped two elastic arms tight around Violet and hugged her. 'Good luck, Vi. I'll be waiting for you tomorrow.' She checked her watch. 'You'd better go and get changed, time is marching on.'

---

_Atomic Parks Suburban Housing,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 10:50 pm_

Nick's lab coat was extremely grimy, stained with soot and grease. He leant on the kitchen side chewing on a cold grilled cheese sandwich. He spoke between mouthfuls. 'Dad, I still can't get over how stupid you were to turn up the ray-gun power like you did, but I just wanted to let you know that I accept your apology. Heck, the damage means that I have some stuff to work on.'

Chris finished pinning his article onto a corkboard. 'How much will it cost to replace all the equipment?'

'Don't worry about that.' Said Nick, licking his fingers. 'I'll go out to the scrap-heaps and do some salvaging. Stuff always turns up. It's the gun I'm the most concerned about.'

'Ruined?' His dad asked.

'Yeah, though thankfully my blueprints weren't incinerated; unlike pretty much everything else in there. It took me ages to get what I needed for that pistol, and all of that time is now down the drain.'

'I'll see what I can get from work on Monday. I'm sure there'll be components lying around, write a list for me.'

'Already done.' Said Nick, producing a roll of toilet paper, which unravelled onto the floor. It was well over six feet long. Chris gasped while his son just laughed.

'You'll be glad to hear that I got the police scanner working straight away, we didn't miss a trick. I even took time to rig up this cool little alarm.' He pointed to a red bulb on the wall.

'Nicely done, lad. Very good-!' The light suddenly started flashing brightly, and a buzzer rang out from the cellar. 'Hey, it works. Prudent of you to test it out.'

Nick was busy removing his super-suit from his school bag. 'I'm not testing it, dad. Looks like we're being called to action!'

---

Stuntman and Electroboy huddled together in the blasted basement listening to the police radio chatter. 'Oscar One, this is Control. Investigate a report of a jewellery heist on Pennyforth Lane, Downtown.'

'Oscar One copies, Control. Await further communication.'

Electroboy remembered something, and pulled his mask over the top of his head. 'Come on, dad. Time to go to work.'

---

_Tompkins Jewellers, Pennyforth Lane,_

_Metroville Downtown,_

_USA, 8/12/1975, 11:13 pm_

It was a grey, damp Friday night and the new superheroes on Metroville's scene had sped out at eleven o'clock that night, responding to a police radio intercept.

'Let's head 'em off at the pass, Electroboy!' Stuntman cried.

'Don't ever say that again, da- uh, Stuntman, or I will hurt you.'

The diamond thieves ran into a side street and piled into the waiting van. One paused for a moment, looking up and down the street to make sure they weren't being followed before slipping into the drivers seat.

'Ha! They call themselves heroes, can't even keep up a chase.' He roared with laughter and turned the key. Nothing.

He tried again, and again, each time the engine just coughed and spluttered but did turn over.

'What's wrong?' Asked a balaclava-muffled voice from the back of the van.

'Van won't start…' The driver answered. He continued to worry the ignition, and finally the engine started with a rumble. Turning the wheel, the driver pulled out into the late night traffic.

'Electroboy!' Stuntman hailed his smaller partner. The tower block gave him an unparalleled view of he city streets, and he studied the van as one might study an insect. He pointed: 'Can you put an EM field around that vehicle?'

'I can try,' replied Electroboy, who then leapt for the fire escape, 'in five minutes be ready to bring them down.'

'Don't panic, I will be.' Stuntman's voice had suddenly taken on a breathless quality, and his skin reflected the neon lights of Metroville in a metallic fashion – like polished steel.

'Titanium within, titanium without.' He muttered before zooming up into the night sky.

---

Electroboy saw the approaching van and guesstimated the distance between him and it. It gained speed to overtake a truck and the young hero picked then to strike. He extended his arms, palms outstretched, and grinned.

The air surrounding the van began to glow blue-white. Arcs of lightning lashed out from Electroboy's hands and whipped against the van, causing the cloud of light to electrify; bright white snakes thrashing away like those inside of a plasma ball. Miniature aurora borealis flickered in and out of life, causing the wet tarmac to glitter dramatically. Inside the van, the driver struggled to control his vehicle; he glanced at the dash and gasped to see all of the gauges rattling away, their needles spinning spastically.

Not thinking, he swung the van into a dark alley. The narrow straight kept the vehicle aligned properly while the driver just slammed his foot on the gas pedal, causing the wheels to screech.

Stuntman fell from the sky like a meteor, his metal skin glowing red-hot. The van rushed onwards, heedless of his presence, and he took up a low ready stance with one foot back to steady himself. Still onwards the van came, and Stuntman gritted his teeth…

'This is going to hurt… OH SH-!'

CRAAASSSHHH!

The van smashed into Stuntman with tremendous force and the noise of rending metal. Debris flew in all directions, but the metal-man was not moved an inch by the impact. Instead, the front of the van warped around the stalwart figure, filling the air with a hail of shattered glass. Under its own momentum, the vehicle flipped over Stuntman in a shower of sparks and came to rest on its back.

'OW!' He screamed, falling to a knee, his skin now more resembling flesh.

With one hand, Electroboy shocked the overturned van enough to knock out anybody within, and helped Stuntman to his feet with the other. 'You OK?'

Stuntman winced. 'Do I _look_ OK?' He cocked his head. 'Sirens. Let's go – ow – we'll let the police – ow – handle this… I think I've broken something.'

'Titanium skin, eh?'

'Shut it! That hit would have killed a lesser super.'

'So you've told me before, on many occasions.'

---

Electroboy ran ahead, Stuntman limping behind, until they came to a paved area at the end of the alley. High-rise towers and wire fencing surrounded the plaza; here and there grass grew from between concrete slabs.

'I can barely hear the sirens now.' Stated Electroboy with a tone of excitement'

'Aye,' replied Stuntman, letting himself slump to the ground, 'Justice has been served!'

'Yeah!' Proclaimed Electroboy, thrusting his fist into the air. The atmosphere crackled with electromagnetic power. 'We're the best! Made in the UK! HA!'

Unexpectedly, a tongue of energy flared up from Electroboy, striking a point at the top of an apartment block. There was a flash of light and a loud scream that echoed around the small plaza, chilling the two partners to the core.

A red object flickered into life at the top of the building and fell, landing with a clang inside the dumpster Stuntman was resting against. He struggled to his feet and looked within.

'Well I'll be beggared!' Exclaimed the larger hero, peering inside.

'What is it?' Electroboy asked nervously. 'Tell me, man!'

Stuntman leant in and pulled the thin girl out, draping her on the paving. She looked to be about fifteen, but it was hard to tell for her long blue-black hair was covering much of her face.

'Cripes!' Shouted Electroboy, recognising her immediately. 'Is she dead?'

Stuntman sighed, forgetting his own pain. 'She's got a pulse, but it's very weak. You put a big shot into her… she's so thin…'

Electroboy fell to her side. 'But, I didn't see her! I- I swear!' He went to touch her shoulder, then whipped his hand back.

'I know, but I don't think it could be helped… I think she's a super.'

'The uniform…' Stated Electroboy, the light dawning. 'The fact I couldn't see her, the way my lightning went for her… it fits, sure. But – she's a girl from my school, the one I met earlier today!'

Stuntman tutted and scooped the limp form up, cradling her in his arms. 'What's her name?' He asked.

'She's called Violet, Violet Parr… I scuffled with her former boyfriend, you recall?'

'Yes, I remember.' Stuntman said. 'Whatever, we need to get her warmed up soon or she won't last much longer. You said _Parr, _right?'

'Yes.' Electroboy sounded more and more distraught.

'I think I know what to do with her, but it'll have to wait until morning. Come on, Electroboy, back to the car… we'll get her home.'

---

Electroboy sat in the back of the Jaguar with Violet while Stuntman manuvoeured them through Metroville's streets and back to their new home.

They hurried inside and Electroboy laid her softly onto the sofa. He draped a blanket over her and pulled up a chair.

'Nick,' said Stuntman, 'it's not your fault.'

'If you keep saying that, dad, I might start to believe you.'

Chris sighed as he took off his goggles. 'I'm going to get changed and start dinner. Keep an eye on her for the moment, and call me if anything happens.'

'You mean if she croaks?' Nick spat back.

'I meant when she wakes up.' Chris said, limping into the bathroom.


	8. Not Quite First Aid

Nick was dreaming.

He was standing in a field of poppies that rippled like water every time the warm breeze touched them. The sun shone down upon his back, and he looked into the haze to see the figure of Violet Parr running towards him.

Nick started his own run, closing the gap before scooping her up in his arms and holding her closely. Then, he stopped, thinking something amiss in his fantasy.

'Poppy field?' He asked himself, dropping Violet to the ground with a wail. 'I know this dream- ARGH!'

A red biplane flew low overhead with a screaming buzz-saw noise. A white aircraft decorated with the emblem of the old Royal Flying Corps followed it.

The scene blurred then exploded before Nick's eyes, and suddenly he was in that same British plane soaring above the field below. He squeezed off a burst of machine-gun fire at the German bird but the attack went too far to the left. He jerked on the control-column, correcting his flight path to intercept the red ace, but before he could engage again he lost the enemy in a dense cloud-bank that appeared from nowhere – from Nick's imagination.

He flung the Sopwith Camel left and right in the water vapour, but could find no trace of the German he had been tailing. Up ahead the cloud thinned and Nick saw a flash of red. He gunned the engine and shot out of the cloud aiming straight at the Germane another. By the time he realised that his target was making at him as he was at it, it was too late for evasive manoeuvres. He would never forget the face of the enemy pilot before their aircraft smashed headlong into one another with a shatter and fiery explosion.

_Violet…_

_---_

_Atomic Parks Suburban Housing,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 9/12/1975, 3:00 am_

Nick opened his eyes and the dark living room swam into focus. He was laying flat on his back, arms crossed, with his head up at ninety degrees to rest of his body, resting against what he could only assume was the sofa.

'Oh, crumbs…' His neck twinged and he noticed a small downward pressure on his crown. 'What am I doing here again?' Reaching up he touched the top of his head and felt a warm hand shaped object. It was, indeed, a hand. Petite, with no fingernails and little mass. He followed the wrist and found the hand connected to a thin arm. He stopped and rolled out of his position, getting to his feet stiffly. 'Ah, Miss Parr…' Nick lifted her hand from where it dangled and placed it on her chest, which rose and fell gently. She moaned and turned over in her sleep.

Nick realised that he must have fallen asleep in his super-suit and sniffed under an arm 'Battery-acid, not terribly pleasant.' He started for the bathroom whilst removing his mask.

Nick stripped his suit off and bunged it into the dirty-clothes basket. Fearing that a shower would awaken his father or Violet, he contented himself with a strip-wash and threw back on the trousers from the previous day; adding a plain purple turtle-neck and simple white slippers to complete the outfit.

Stopping for a minute to admire Violet's sleeping form, Nick fixed himself a cocoa and collected a folder filled with technical drawings and specifications for the ray-gun as well as numerous other experimental super-weapons. He sat back in the chair that he had previously moved and relaxed.

The drink drained away into Nick's stomach over time, and he perused his documents with interest. Here and there, he adjusted a measurement or changed a formula, glad of this time to sort his files out. Periodically, he checked over the folder to see if Violet was still all right. One hour grew into two, and so on, and eventually Nick felt his eyelids growing heavy once again. Just as he was about to lapse into his dreams, a small cough shook him to life.

'You look strange when you concentrate.'

Nick looked over to see Violet sitting up with her arms around her knees. He let the folder drop to his lap and crossed his arms. 'You look strange when you sleep.' Violet smiled for second, then groaned in pain. 'You still don't look too good, I must admit. Where do you hurt?'

Violet pointed to her knee and the small of her back. 'But really, I ache all over…'

'That would be the fall.' Nick whispered.

'It's really sore here.' She passed her hand a good couple of centimetres over the back of her neck. 'It feels like I've been burnt.'

'Well…' Said Nick, standing up. 'That would most likely be where you were electrocuted.' He grabbed a first-aid kit from the wall and knelt down behind Violet. 'I'm really sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen.'

'Neither did I.' Added Violet, wincing as Nick gently rolled down the neck of her suit to reveal the damage. 'And to think that I _guessed_ you were a regular school-yard hero.'

'Heh.' Nick squeezed some cold saline onto the burn and dabbed at the wound with some sterile cloth. 'You're quick; I'll give you that. You're also lucky, I could have killed you…'

'So, you really are Electroboy?' Violet grumbled through clenched teeth.

'Sure am…' Nick finished applying some gauze padding but left the suit collar rolled down. He closed the medi-kit and put it back on the wall. 'A superhero, I always told myself, an elite _British _superhero.'

Violet smiled again then wrapped the blankets tighter around herself. 'And your dad is-?'

'The mysterious Stuntman?' Nick finished her sentence and sat back down. She stared at him with intense azure eyes. 'Yeah. I assume it was for that info that you were tailing us earlier on?'

Violet nodded. 'Seeing as you're a super, I don't suppose it would be any harm to tell you. My family are-'

'All supers?' Said Nick, closing his folder up.'

'I wish you would stop that.' Violet whined. 'It's really annoying. But yes, all of them.'

Nick grinned. 'Proven genetic fact.' He thought of something. 'I met your mother a while ago, when we first arrived.'

Violet nodded. 'She seemed to know your name last night at dinner.'

'I was raised in conversation?'

'Tony…' Muttered Violet, and then looked away to finish that particular line of talk.

'Ah.' Nick reached across and flicked the blanket to cover Violet's feet. 'You know, in the morning my dad will want to know everything about you and your family.'

'I guessed as much.' Violet sighed. 'But, there's no harm telling you – I mean, you're supers too.'

'Your secrets safe with us.' Nick yawned. 'When I told my dad that your surname was Parr he seemed to be thinking of taking you somewhere tomorrow, getting you back to where you belong.'

'The airfield?' Asked Violet.

'Maybe, yeah. Sounds right. Why?'

'If this had gone to plan, I would be meeting my mom there at ten in the morning, today. She works the weekends there.' Violet shivered. 'I feel cold.'

'I'm not surprised. The shock of the injury, and the heating doesn't come on yet.' Nick scratched his nose and gestured to the corridor. 'I'll sleep on the sofa- sorry, couch – I'll sleep on the couch for the rest of the night. Go and get into my bed, the winter sheets are on and it should be warmer.'

Violet seemed concerned about the whole idea. 'Um…'

'Oh please!' Nick exclaimed. 'The sheets were changed the day before yesterday, don't spite yourself and go get warm. You still aren't well.'

'All right, fine! I hate it when people are concerned for me…' She giggled and Nick helped her up. 'I'll sleep in your darn room, on one condition.'

'That is?'

'You make me one of those cocoas, it smelt delicious.'


	9. Ra Ra Rasputin

_Atomic Parks Suburban Housing,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 9/12/1975, 9:00 am_

Chris grasped his son by the shoulders and shook him gently. 'Nick… Nick, where's Violet?'

Nick stretched his legs over the arm of the sofa with a yawn. 'M'm, she's in my room.' He kept his eyes closed.

Chris withdrew a look of shock on his face. 'What's she doing there?'

Nick mumbled something and swung his feet onto the carpet. 'Don't panic, dad.' He rubbed his eyes and yawned again. 'To cut a long story short, she woke up in the night with aches and pains, so I patched her up and we talked a bit. Anyway, she got cold so I offered her a proper bed to rest in.'

'What did you discuss?' Chris asked.

'Well, she was following us because her family needed information.'

'Why would her family need information? Why should it be any of their concern?'

'They be all supers.' Answered Nick in his best Captain Ahab voice.

Chris was not overly surprised. 'Probably think that we're trying to muscle in on their gig.' He stopped, then wanted to hear it one more time. 'All supers then?'

'Yes, every one apparently.' Nick stood up and worked the cricks out of his neck. 'I didn't get any names, but perhaps we could ask her some questions now that she's had a good nights kip under her belt.'

'Sounds good, seeing as you've peeked my interest.' Chris walked into the kitchen, muttered something about Helen Parr, and opened the fridge. 'It's nine now, I want to be gone by ten. Go and see if she's up – I'm going to start on a big cooked breakfast, I think we _all _deserve it after last night.'

---

'Miss Parr?' Nick rapped on his bedroom door. 'Are you awake?'

A distant voice called back through the wood. 'Yes, yes I am… but, please don't come in!'

Nick laughed and leant against the wall. 'I had no intention of doing so. I just wanted to tell you that my dad is cooking the Full English for breakfast, and that we'll be leaving for the airfield in under an hour.'

Violet opened the door slightly, revealing nothing but an eye. 'Um, I can't very well go out in my super-suit. Do you, uh, perhaps… I mean, could I possibly..?'

'You want to borrow some clothes?' Nick asked. Violet nodded slowly, her cheeks flushing red. 'Sure, in the wardrobe. They'll be big on you, but it's something.'

'Nick…' Violet's face disappeared and the door opened. Nick entered his room, and noticed Violet's red suit folded on the bed. 'Sit down. Don't worry, I won't become visible.' A wardrobe drawer slipped out and a blue shirt floated upwards.

'What is it, Violet?' Nick asked as he felt the red suit's material between a thumb and forefinger.

'Please, call me Vi.' The disembodied voice went on. 'I was thinking last night… why _did _you hit Tony?'

Nick exhaled and collapsed onto the neatly make bed. 'Because he's a pig and he hurt you.'

Violet snorted as a pair of shorts wrapped themselves around her invisible legs. 'You barely knew me then… you barely know me now.' She appeared, filling the monstrously baggy clothes with a body, and stuck a pose. Nick resisted the temptation to laugh.

'Very… nice.'

Violet sat next to him. 'I just wanted to say thanks, for what you did. It was a bit, excessive, but I can't think of any other boy who would have leapt to my defence like that.'

'It's in my nature, don't mention it.' Nick said quietly.

'And…' She started. 'Thanks for helping me out last night.'

Nick shrugged. 'You tried the tough-cookie routine, but you still weren't hiding your discomfort very well. There's no point not getting it seen to…'

Nick looked down and saw that the gap between him and Violet had closed a good few inches since she sat down. _Oh dear… _Echoed a small voice inside his head. _Do something…_

He coughed and stood up abruptly, leaving Violet to stare up at him hopefully. 'Do you hear? Uh, my dad's calling us for breakfast. I think we should get going…' Violet's eyes dimmed a notch. 'Yes, that's a good idea. A very good idea…' Nick trailed off and almost ran from his bedroom.

Violet picked up her suit and followed on.

---

'My Lord, young lady!' Gasped Chris, mouth wide. He had never seen anything quite like it. 'Have you ever eaten before today?'

Violet had an entire side of the table to herself. It was covered with half-full plates of toast and fried-bread, as well as two cartons of orange juice, one of which was dry.

Nick was quietly impressed. 'Dad, when you got shocked when I was little, was hunger a side effect?'

'I don't remember so, lad…'

Violet finished her sausages and mopped up the grease with a piece of under-done toast. When everything had been eaten, she drained her glass of fruit juice and burped. 'Oh, excuse me… that was lovely, thanks!'

'No worries.' Mused Chris as he started to gather the utensils together. 'We like to feed our guests well.'

'Dad?' Nick began, looking first at his watch, then at Violet. She smiled at him and he felt his brow prickle. 'Leave the washing, we need to get going. I'll help when we get back.' He glanced at his feet, thinking. What was wrong with him? A semi-romantic advance by a girl he liked wasn't anything to flee, but it just didn't feel right.

'By Jove, Nick, you're right.' He turned to face Violet. 'So, you said you were meeting your mother today at ten?'

'At Hutchins Field.' She added.

'OK, time to get our skates on.' Chris picked up his keys and Nick finished his juice before getting up.

Violet wondered aloud. 'What about questions, Mr. Worthy?' She chortled. 'I _was _spying on you…'

Chris smirked. 'I'll interrogate you en route, if it makes you feel any better.'

----

_Unknown location,_

_Kamchatkan Peninsular,_

_USSR, 9/12/1975, 9:15 am_

A shadowy figure waded through the snow towards a waiting jeep. The man was huge, and despite a thin suit seemed impervious to the cold.

Reaching the jeep, he opened the passenger door and got inside. A small man wearing glasses was waiting. He shivered underneath a thick fur outfit and pushed his glasses up to better see the black suited man.

'I got it, Comrade Taplinski.' The man handed a brown package to the large figure and shrunk back. 'Enough tetra-plutonium to destroy Moscow five times over.'

'Ah, yes… finally.' The other figure sniffed the package, as one would sniff a freshly made apple pie, and grinned showing off pointed yellow teeth. 'You have served me well, Dr. Petrovich. But unfortunately, you have now outlived you usefulness.'

The doctor screamed and scrabbled for the door handle dementedly. He didn't move fast enough before an ice-cold hand wrapped around the back of his neck. The dark man jerked his wrist, and the doctor's neck snapped like a twig. 'One more thing, Doctor, you know my name isn't Taplinski…'

He got out of the vehicle and pushed a button on his belt. A radio crackled some kind of confirmation and within moments a black and red Hind-E assault chopper flew up over a ridge and landed in front of Taplinski's hulking form. He climbed into the crew compartment and the helicopter rose into the steel grey sky.

The villain took a seat and addressed the chopper pilot. 'Back to base, Leitenant. We shall leave the snow to cover the evidence.'

'Da, Comrade Rasputin. We will be there very shortly.' The pilot turned back to his controls and set the heading.

'Rasputin… your trip was fruitful?' Asked a cold voice from the darkened rear of the chopper.

'Ah, Polkovnik Fury. Yes, very fruitful.' Rasputin held up the brown bag then threw it to Fury who deposited it into a lead case. 'The Motherland must never ally with the Imperialist West, and with this token in my position I can insure that this "détente" does not progress any further.'

Fury cackled. 'Indeed, Comrade.'

Rasputin looked at his second in command. 'I trust you have read about the next target?'

'Da, I have. It will be like taking candy from a baby.' Fury laughed again, and it seemed to freeze the very air around him. 'I leave for this Metroville tomorrow and will contact you when I have located the device.'

'Very good.' Said Rasputin, turning to look out of a window. 'But please, don't start marking the scene with your name again. Too many questions were asked about "The Winged Fury" before…'

'And I paid the price for my slip, Comrade. It will not happen again.'

'Excellent.' Croaked Rasputin. 'By February next year, the US will be on its knees, and I will rise to lead this great nation to the victory it deserves!'

---

_Hutchins Airfield,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 9/12/1975, 10:05 am_

Helen Parr watched from the top of the control tower as a dark green Jaguar crawled along the dirt track leading to the small terminal building – more of a shack than anything else.

The car pulled up and Helen was surprised to see Chris Worthy get out of it. He scanned the tarmac then looked up and saw her. He waved his arms and shouted at her from below.

'Mrs. Parr. We need to talk!' He started walking towards the tower.

Helen hollered back. 'I'm afraid now isn't a good time… I'm waiting for somebody.'

Chris produced an elastic-band from his coat pocket and started playing with it to make his point. 'I'm afraid it's quite important, I don't think it can wait!'


	10. The Red Bear

_Hutchins Airfield,_

_Metroville,_

_USA, 9/12/1975, 10:06 am_

Nick watched from out of his window as his father signalled to Mrs. Parr. She shouted something down to him and sprinted back into the control tower. Chris started walking forward again, reaching the ground floor door just as it was opened for him.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Violet. She was sitting bolt upright as far way from him as she could get in such an enclosed space, with her shoulders hunched defensively.

'Don't do that, Vi. It's not helping your burn.'

She relaxed her shoulders but didn't sit back, instead staring at the car-floor. 'I'm really sorry about earlier, in your room…'

'Why, what happened?' Nick asked earnestly, trying to alleviate Violet's discomfort.

She winced. 'I didn't really know what I was doing.'

_You knew what you doing, _thought Nick, but he again said something to ease the tension. 'Don't worry. The shock must have scrambled your circuits.' He leant over and tapped her on the head. 'My fault.'

Violet smiled. 'Yeah, must've been something like that.'

The car door opened suddenly, and the torso of Helen Parr jammed itself into the vehicle. She squeezed Violet tightly producing a small yelp from her daughter. 'Honey, oh my you're hurt!'

'No, mom, well, only a little…' Violet lowered her voice and growled into Helen's ear. 'Embarrassing…'

Helen frowned at her daughter and hugged her again, this time not so tightly. 'I was worried when you weren't here on time… you're usually so punctual.'

'So I ran into some difficulty... I was well looked after, mom.' Violet tried to wriggle free of her mother's grip.

Helen looked first at Nick, then over her shoulder at Chris. 'I think we should all go inside and talk about this over coffee.' She helped Violet out of the car and Nick slid across the back seat, getting out afterwards. 'I have a lot of questions for you two.' She said to Nick and his dad in an inquisitive tone.

'And we have many for you.' Replied Chris.

* * *

It had been over an hour since the Worthy's had returned Violet to her rightful place after the previous "excitement". Despite her earlier trepidation towards Chris and Nick, Helen Parr had warmed to them after getting over the worry for her eldest child. Violet had just gone to get changed into something more suitable, and had returned from the staff restroom dressed in worn blue jeans and a pale pink shirt. They fitted far better than Nick's loaners. 

'Here, thanks Nick.' She said, handing over a black bin bag with the stand-in clothes inside. 'It feels better to be in something that doesn't require twine to keep on.'

'It would seem you look good whatever you wear, Vi.' Nick replied in a deliberately harmless fashion. Violet still blushed slightly.

Helen pulled out a chair at the old card table and Violet sat down in it with a sigh. 'But, Chris.' She began. 'I still don't quite understand why you came over to the states in the first place.'

'I had to move because of my job.' Chris replied.

'Aeronautics?' Helen prompted.

'Aye.' Chris took a sip of his black coffee and went on. 'I used to work for a firm in Manchester called Blazer Air-Systems. Eventually, however, the Mirage Industries juggernaught encroached upon Blazer's territory, and I was laid off in the impending budget cuts to try and stay afloat.' He rubbed his stubble thoughtfully. 'And so, I took some of my designs and "started batting for the other team", so to speak. It took them a while to bite, but when they did the folks at Mirage were very keen to develop my research, and I was put in control of a facility in eastern England.'

Helen nodded. 'So we come back to that engine you designed?'

'Yes, yes we do. I spent a lot of company money developing the VASIMR drive, and after seeing the results of the first tests, Mirage herself displayed an interest in getting the engine, and myself, over the pond for "further development". Anyway, as I said, I believe it was at the final test, when the plane went out of control, that Mirage pegged me for a super.'

'My husband probably helped her come to that conclusion.' Said Helen with a tinge of guilt.

Chris laughed. 'It's no problem, in fact, I think that Mirage is trying to encourage me and Nick in heroic pursuits.'

'How so?'

'Well, the suits made for us and our powers… then there's-'

'Then there's the car.' Nick cut in.

'Yes, thanks lad. The Jaguar outside, I've never seen anything like it… Never mind how we got hold of it, from what I learnt at Fernton only one corporation on Earth has the technological advantage to be able to put something like that together.'

Nick peered at Violet, and then adjusted his gaze to focus on Helen. 'But you say you've had dealings with her before now?'

'Yes. She was Syndrome's right hand gal while the culling was happening, a year back now.' Helen grimaced, disturbed at how closely her family came to destruction. 'But with mine and my husbands testimony at the trials, she was cut a deal by the government. And so…'

'She took over Syndrome's business, so to speak?'

'Yeah, got it.' Helen got up and took the empty coffee cups away to the canteen.

'Government…' Began Nick, his mind whirring with thought. 'Syndrome was a complete nutcase, and she was deep into the culling idea with him. I'm willing to bet that your information was only a small part of what started Mirage Industries. US army's been getting some slick new tech, if the BBC's reporting is accurate…h'm…' He started scribing the table with his index finger. 'So, your government gets new presents, not to mention a close partner to call on in time of need. But then there's the super angle.'

'What super angle?' Asked Violet before Helen could comment.

'Well, after the culling, there were precious few superheroes left in the states. Your family, maybe a couple of others. For a while now, the papers back in Blighty have been bringing in news that supers across Europe have moved to the US… Europe has always been a safer part of the globe, I guess.' Nick raised his eyebrows and scanned each face at the table. 'You can all put two and two together.'

'So.' Said Helen. 'The white house calls in support from overseas, utilising Mirage's extensive intelligence network, as well as their own of course. When they get here, Mirage assists again, providing uniforms, transport, gadgetry, whatever the supers need.'

'Bingo.' Whispered Nick, his father shook his head.

'Clever sods… very clever.'

Violet was fiddling with a business card on the table, but then opened her eyes a slight amount wider, looking at Nick. 'Hey, what was that thing Dekker gave you in physics yesterday?'

'The card…' Nick gasped, then fumbled in his trouser pocket. 'Clockstopper… now I get it.'

'Get what..? is this for me?' Chris asked, taking the card.

'Yeah. Sorry dad, I forgot to give it to you… wow, that was really stupid of me.'

Chris scratched his head whilst looking at the embossed writing. 'Clockstopper, that name rings a bell.'

'It should.' Nick chuckled. 'He's that "super" from merry Deutschland.' Helen caught the inflection in his voice, which told her they were not talking about an innately gifted hero.

Chris clicked his fingers. 'Yes! I know what you mean, the guy with the robotic suit. He is really cool... when he stopped that rebel cell in Munich, that coverage was the best. With the jet-pack, and the machine guns under the arm!' His voice had accelerated, and at this last comment he extended a fist over the table and started jerking it in time with cannon noises. Chris saw the others giving him odd glances, and calmed down, looking at Nick with an impressed grin. 'Robo-guy's your physics teacher?'

Nick nodded but before he could reply Violet spoke up again. 'Wait a second...' She drawled, moving her eyes up from where she was studying the plastic veneer and looking each super searchingly in the eyes. 'I know we like to think that détente is bringing an end to this stalemate with the Rooskies, but with all the supers gone from Europe, what'll happen if the red bear decides to roll over the border into the West?'

Nick sighed. 'Open conflict, nuclear warfare, the end of the world as we know it…' He spread his arms wide and puffed up his cheeks. 'Kaboom!'

Chris hit him. 'Stop encouraging Vi, it'll never come to that. Brezhnev's no fool, he knows what provoking the West will bring.'

Nick shrugged. 'He's not going to be in power for ever…'

Helen was about to add her thoughts on the matter, which mostly involved denial of any Cold War in the first place, but a phone started to ring from upstairs. 'Ah, excuse me. I've got a good idea of who that is.'

She got up and jogged up the small flight of steps onto the next floor. Chris was staring at the card again, and Nick looked over at Violet with a smile.

'Hey, Vi. Good call, I'd never have thought of it myself.'

She blushed again, and mumbled back. 'I just like to cover all the angles, thanks.'

The phone stopped ringing and each ear tuned into Helen's end of the conversation. 'Bob, honey … yes, she's back … there was a small problem bu- … oh no, no she's OK…' Helen laughed at something. 'Always on the ball, honey … no, she's got us more than that … oh, you just wait. She brought them back!' She stopped and mumbled something inaudible. 'I agree completely … so that's fine, then? … Excellent, I'll tell them … love you, too.'

Helen came running back downstairs with a huge grin. 'Chris, Nick, you are both invited to dine with us tonight at ours! My husband will be cooking for us, a Christmas barbeque.'

Nick licked his lips, but Chris remained impassive. 'Oh no, we couldn't possibly impose ourselves… we barely know you, and-'

'Nonsense.' Helen sat back down. 'You both look after my daughter after her accident, not to mention the fact that both of you are clearly well skilled supers. It would be our pleasure.'

'Well, in that case.' Chuckled Chris. 'We _reluctantly _accept!'

* * *

_Kiev class "Prokhorovka",_

_In dock, Archangelsk,_

_Northwest USSR, 9/12/1975, 11:15 am_

Alexei Adamov stood just outside the bridge of his mammoth aircraft carrier, scanning the steel waters below him. Since the ship was commissioned in June of this same year, he had been tasked with putting her through her paces. Now he was her commander, and it pained him to see such a fine vessel waiting in port for orders that would likely never come. He finished his cigarette and tossed it away, preparing to light another before a voice called him from the hatch.

'Comrade Captain?' It was his first officer, Androtzhsky. 'You have a telephone call waiting for you in your ready-room, Captain. The gentleman said he was from the Naval Office, and had to speak with you right away.'

Alexei sighed, his breath tearing away in white rags. 'Very well, Androtzhsky, I am coming.'

* * *

He stepped inside his tiny ready-room and wound up his phone, placing the receiver to a chilled ear. The harsh voice on the other end of the line, one that he never thought he would hear again, almost made him drop the device. 

'It has been arranged, Alexei.' The voice said. 'You leave the day after tomorrow, on the eleventh.'

Alexei slumped into his leather chair. 'Mr. Rasputin… how did you accomplish such a feat?'

'I have my contacts in the Navy, Captain. After a bit of gentle, _persuasion_, they were extremely happy to see you out of dock and into action.'

Alexei scratched behind the collar of his greatcoat, where the heat of inside was making it itch. 'And what action would this be?'

Rasputin dropped his tone to a growl. 'Do not stall for time, my _friend_. You are playing with fire, and if you are reluctant to undertake your mission for me, there are dozens of other young, idealistic, and frustrated naval officers willing to take your place.' Rasputin paused. 'Do not think that you are indispensable to me.'

Alexei swallowed hard, his mouth dry. 'I am prepared to do this for the Motherland, Rasputin, I am faithful.'

'I know.' The evil voice cackled. 'If we are agreed, I would encourage to begin preparations for departure. My associate,or perhaps"political officer", will arrive in town tomorrow with the final details of the mission. Do not let me down, Alexei, and I will see to it that you are rewarded. Disobey me, and…'

'Do not worry, sir. I understand... Goodbye, Comrade.' Alexei let the receiver drop from his hand into it's holder, and he shakily poured himself a shot of vodka. He downed it, and felt warm ignorance spreading in his belly. Getting up, he opened his door onto the bridge and addressed his men.

'Comrades, we have new orders. We leave on the eleventh!' The bridge crew cheered for joy, glad to be back on campaign. 'Begin preparing the vessel – I want supplies, aircraft, crew, etcetera… everything ready by tomorrow. Our political officer will be here by then with our official orders, and I want us to make a good impression. Get to work, Comrades.' His men snapped into action, transmitting orders to all parts of the mighty Prokhorovka. At the bow, Alexei noticed the hammer and sickle being hoisted into position. He sighed and pointed at his second in command. 'Mr. Androtzhsky, get me the flight deck. I wish to talk to Podpolkovnik Adamov at once.'

Androtzhsky drew nearer to his captain. 'Sir, with all respect, your son will be busy readying his planes... his pilots…'

'He can spare a few minutes – get him. That is an order.'


End file.
